Ascension
by mentalyoga
Summary: Seven years after Chaos' fall, the senshi are trudging through normal, if imperfect, lives. But in a time of peace, have they been lulled into a deceptive sense of security? Has fate been altered, or just taken a detour? UPDATED 01.09.08!
1. Prologue

**Ascension**

_Prologue: By the Light of the Flame_

-mentalyoga016-

Disclaimer: I don't own _Sailor Moon_ and yada-yada, blahblahblah.

* * *

Chaos was a now-distant memory lodged in the back of their minds. Seven years comprised a pretty large chunk of a twenty-three year old's life, and most of the girls had tucked their senshi days safely away in the dark corridor filled with dusty memories of trying battles and unconditional friendship. But after seven years of assured quiet and rapidly thinning bonds, they thought that perhaps their fate had been altered somehow, that the mythic spinners had tugged and mended their threads, and that their real destiny was to exist in relative normalcy. Crystal Tokyo had been scratched out of mind like an old scab and they finally allowed themselves to settle into what seemed enough like peace to lie back and smile occasionally.

As for their friendship—well, they hadn't grown apart from one another so much as they had met less frequently, and the occasions they did seemed somehow less meaningful. Shopping expeditions had become few and far between, and the rare gossip sessions held by the warmth of the sacred fire at the Hikawa Shrine were filled to the brim, as all the gossip had built up to burst. A cup overflowing; but was the emptiness at the end of their drink a lasting chasm? They believed that nothing had changed between them; the eternal bond had not been broken along with their apparent futures. Sure, maybe Minako kidded her way out of coming to the erratic reunions, citing lame excuses no one believed for a second, and maybe Ami just couldn't seem to accept this tranquility like the rest. Maybe Rei needed Usagi's company more, and with different motivations, than she once had. Maybe Makoto's lone wolf disposition had finally bared its teeth. But the girls knew one another inside and out, and planned, of course, to be lifelong friends.

With or without a prescribed future lined up for them, they would not falter in the bonds they had forged over the past years, and in the past lifetimes, that they had shared.

It seemed, however, that when they went to leave one another, the glances and the hugs didn't linger as long as they once had…

* * *

Usagi paused on the balcony, looking out upon the city while absently rubbing her stomach. It was funny to observe something so alive, and yet so definitively detached, as a city. Even if she shifted her gaze every few moments, each time she could find a new facet of Tokyo, something she hadn't noticed in the twenty-three years she had called it 'home.' Take the Tokyo Tower, for instance. She had never before noticed that sitting out during sunset, with the sun hitting it from behind at a very precise moment, it almost looked a bit like a camera tripod. How many unsuspecting victims had it photographed moving about their daily minutiae? How many young couples' amorous activities were looked upon with disdain or with envy? How many muggings had been captured in its glare, but remained unreported by the silent Watcher? How many lives had thrived and died under its gaze?

The night-lights began to flash on, and Usagi realized that she never felt as safe as when she was surrounded by the protective shield of this artificial evening gleam. Almost immediately, she wondered whether or not the Moon Palace had ever been quite like this. Did it have the same hustle and bustle, the deep drone that is only noticeable with the deepest of attention? She remembered so little of her former life. The flashbacks did little to aid her careless memory; she was too caught up in the ins and outs of her newest manga to bother with memorizing a useless story long dead.

She leaned back and yawned, stretching her arms precariously above her head, feeling suddenly woozy along the railing. The city stretched its own arms out 100 feet below her, threatening to outdo her.

A pair of sinewy arms wrapped around her shivering waist. "You hungry?" Mamoru asked her, smiling into the side of her head with a sense of victory for having snuck up on her.. He grabbed hold of her tightly and lifted her up to the rail, "I guess the real question is when _aren't_ you hungry?"

Playfully, she made a dramatic show of smacking him.

"Hey, hey, now! I'm just kidding!" he laughed "Plus, you're the one in the dangerous position now," he nodded to the moving cars racing below, and removed one strong arm to rub at the spot where her hand collided with the soft flesh of his cheek.

She squirmed nervously and held tightly onto his solid shoulders. Would she take him down smoking with her? "Bring me down," she commanded with as much authority as she could muster. He obeyed. "Besides, I'm not _always_ hungry," she protested, running her fingers through the smooth, thick black hair that hung teasingly over his eye.

"But…?"

"…but I could eat." The color rose in her cheeks, a practiced display of femininity that she felt no need to phase out in light of her pseudo-feminist tendencies.

He grinned. "Let's go out. As much as I _adore_ your cooking…" at the dismayed look on her face, he quickly made reparations, "I just…love to show you off to the world sometimes…heh…"

She didn't need any prodding, "Lemme grab my purse."

They were driving home. Dinner was pleasant; they spoke of old times, and of their future together. Her stomach was full, and she was lost in thought. Neither spoke, but it did not make for an uneasy silence; it was a comfortable sense of wholeness. They did not have to say anything to realize that they understood one another, completely.

She recalled trying to balance growing into her misguided ideas of womanhood, the constant fear of loved ones dying, and about saving the earth from imminent doom—she never thought it would end. In the mind of an awkward teenager, the angst was eternal. Yet here she was, as happy as she could ever have imagined.

She never believed she could end up like this. They pulled into the driveway, and Usagi put a finger to his lips as she led him up the stairs to a bed she knew would keep them warm the whole night through.

* * *

The morning wafted in through the blinds, a dazzling array of iridescence radiating softly upon her alabaster skin. Her chestnut hair caught the light, making it almost reddish, and it lay wave-like upon the pillow. Her eyes were closed; her lashes fanned out, like charcoal-black lace, from her eyelids. Behind the lids danced the dreams of a girl who had no time to dream in the waking hours.

Her alarm snapped to attention, sending a cacophony of sound down on her suddenly shattered night-visions. With a jolt, her hand resolutely sent the little bastard flying across the room into the wall. The pitiful cracking sound it made as it met its final collision was compensation enough for Makoto, and she smirked as she jumped from beneath the covers and tossed some clothes on.

She took the stairs three at a time, and grabbed a leftover sandwich lying on the counter, shoving it haphazardly into her mouth. Chewing optional. She made sure to have her briefcase and her bento box, before sprinting out the back door and into the alleyway, the quickest route. If she was late one more time, that cute boss of hers was going to send her packing…

…Sliding to a halt, Makoto narrowly avoided body-slamming a coworker as she completed her race to the most foreboding of all presences in the office: the all-knowing, all-powerful, one-and-only clock-in computer! It waited slyly in the crevice beside the vending machine, always eager to catch the defenseless, lowly proletariat running just a tad late. She sidled up next to it casually, and slowly, but punched her ID number into it with drive and purpose.

DENIED.

The computer may as well have shouted "No, you lazy-ass, you aren't getting away with it this time!" back at her. Her jaw dropped, as heavy as if it had been stuffed with lead. Oh, wait. She remembered suddenly that the sandwich she had shoved into it still hung there precariously, and she quickly polished it off, her stomach groaning and settling, satiated. She resisted the urge to pound the computer, counting to ten with intermittent deep breaths. Anger management hadn't been a complete waste of time, she figured, or else she'd owe the company a large sum of money for this damnable Satan-machine alone.

"Do you need me to swipe you in?" a deep, sultry voice caressed her ear.

"Why I oughta!" she whipped around, expecting Masao, the greasy guy with the Hitler-mustache from the next cubicle over, to be there. "Oh damn…I…er…I…uh…" She ran her hand through her hair and giggled nervously, wondering whether batting her eyelashes would help. She decided against it.

"I didn't mean to frighten you, Ms. Kino," her boss, Akiyama, looking striking in a black pinstripe suit and crimson tie, apologized.

"Call me Makoto, please," she murmured without thinking.

"Here, allow me," adding afterwards, "Makoto." He ran the card through the machine smoothly, and grinned. "Hey, just try not to let it happen anymore, ok? I might be _your_ boss, and I might not mind being lenient with _you_, but my boss is gonna notice this one of these days." He winked and walked off to make his hourly rounds, a noticeably confident bounce in his step.

Makoto blushed in spite of herself. 'Damn it. Just who does he think he is!?' she though indignantly, leaning against the vending machine. 'Honestly…just because he's got a killer smile, and an amazing as--' The blood only rushed more rapidly to the surface, and the prudish woman waiting behind her to get to a soda-pop gave her an odd glare. The vending machine made an abrupt 'whirring' noise, as though in reply. "Sorry," she bowed her head and made a mad dash to her cubicle.

True to form, however, Masao soon peeked his head over the wall, "Mako-chan, I didn't see you come in!" His stringy hair fell into his eyes, and without missing a beat, he licked his palm and slicked it back. Makoto made an admirable effort not to gag, quickly placing a rough palm against her mouth to hold back.

"Ms. Kino, Masao. Makoto, if you absolutely must. But if you ever call me Mako-chan again, I'll rip your tongue out." She smiled maliciously, her eyes lighting up at the thought. Looking down at her well-sharpened claws, she buffed them a bit on her teeth and glanced back up at him.

He laughed, an uncertainty weighing it down, as though he didn't know whether or not she was serious. "Sorry, Ms. Kino." His face disappeared once more behind the one protective layer—the flimsy wall-like divider—between them. Sighing, she tried desperately to get working on the report she was supposed to have to Akiyama later that day. Running through address books and company information before regurgitating lists and statistics from other reports—this was the bulk of her work. Days melded together, each one an endless array of meaningless words. She bloody well lost any interest in reading on her own time, that was for damn sure. Outside the office, letters became intimidating, words threatening, and paragraphs nearly monstrous.

It was odd. Surreal, even. Not that long ago, it seemed, she was out tossing thunder bolts around carelessly, and saving the world from the great evils of the Unknown Universe, and now she was sitting at a tiny desk writing inconsequential accounts for a man only a year or so older than she was.

She never thought it would end up like this.

* * *

Out of sheer habit, she pushed her glasses back up snugly upon the thin bridge of her nose. Why, she mused carelessly, did glasses have such propensity to do that? By this time, shouldn't _someone_ have invented self-sustaining rims? She added that minor project to her mental To-Do list and returned quickly to her work.

Typing furiously away, she plugged equations into the Mercury computer. She knew that, although she couldn't see every facet clearly yet, the computer--within its tiny and efficient brain--knew everything. It was a matter of knowing the correct mathematical codes. She imagined, even, that it could predict the future with a precise numerical sequence. But who was she to theorize such things?

"Ami, would you like me to help you out with anything?" Mizuno Kaya inquired in her soft-spoken but firm manner.

"Mother," she replied in the same tone, one learned over time from the still-vibrant woman standing behind her, somehow ageless, "I need to concentrate right now. If you'd just leave me to my devices for a bit…"

Mizuno Kaya nodded quickly and went about her business.

Working in solitude once again, she wiped the thin layer of sweat lining her brow. If only she were able to get the last bit of the problem answered, the dash of truth would become unmistakably apparent. But it seemed an unending question; who knew such seemingly simple workings could be so intricate? The battles and the strategies and the attacks and defenses she had left behind never gave her so much trouble. Perhaps this particular vocation wasn't cut out for her; perhaps she should stick to her sphere of influence.

There! The last piece of the puzzle. She finished the final step with an effortless motion and a content grin tugging at the sides of her mouth. Finally, she could bake a proper pan of brownies! Ah, the Mercury computer never failed to impress her.

Sliding the menacingly rectangular pan into the oven, she paused for a moment to congratulate herself. The ease was only passing, though, with only the faint impression of something that may have been a smile upon her lips remaining. What if she were to bake them too long? They might burn, fain! they'd explode! Her happiness swept away in the tide of uncertainty, she began to question her larger motives. The significance of baking a pan of brownies properly or not was not the greater question. When did she cross the line of using the computer for necessity and into this era of abusing it in favor of trivialities? Had life really become so mundane, so purposeless, that her tiny gateway to eternal power was merely a get-out-of-jail-free card to her now? Abuse. That's what this was—an abuse of something she might once have called sacred. She had defiled eons of dignity and order.

How had things ended up like this?

* * *

"Aino Minako; she's a real class-act," the casting director chuckled, plotting her moral downfall with his compatriots. Their confident laughs indicated that they either believed she couldn't hear them or didn't care if she could. She was hidden away in a nook off of the side hall, a meager wall between them. "I heard she…" he whispered, becoming inaudible momentarily. Minako leaned forward, angling her ear towards the indistinguishable mutterings, "and ended up with that last role. Can you believe the lack of artistic integrity in this business?"

One of the other men with him chuckled, "Hey, screw integrity! I wouldn't say 'no' to that!" More lecherous laughing.

The words struck her like a swift poison. She was shaking almost violently, tears threatening to break free of their shell—her façade fortified only by her resolute will. Standing, she gripped her purse handle with white knuckles, and turned on her heel. She would rather proudly show them just what kind of girl she was. She stalked into the room, suddenly a lioness; the men looked up with deceitfully pleasant smiles.

"We'll call you in when we need you, Miss…" the ringleader remarked condescendingly, allowing his eyes to linger far too long on the front of Minako's blouse. His hair was plastered against his skull with grease, his shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal a light spattering of thin chest hair and two gold necklaces, and he reeked of cheap cologne sprayed on far too liberally. She nearly laughed aloud, finding an odd humor in his strikingly stereotypical sleaziness.

"How about I let you know if I need you," she retorted with a dash of sass, "but don't hold your breath—I don't want to be held responsible when you pass out!" She wanted to smile, proud of her audacity. She was no average blonde, right?

His eyes flashed, but he was confused at her outburst and looked to his comrades for backup. They shrugged in unison, stupid and herd-like. She could almost picture them standing in a line chewing cud in synchronized motions. "What is it you're trying to say?"

It was her turn to laugh, and laugh she did. Wrapping a hand tightly around her hip, she stood erect and replied, "I wouldn't be caught dead working for a dirt bag like you. That's what I'm trying to say, Mister." Her smirk widened, and the cerulean hue of her eyes deepened dangerously. "And I most certainly did _not_ give that director a bl--"

A crew member attempted to escort her away. She shook him off with ease. "I won't be needing your assistance; lay another hand on me, and I'll make sure you sing soprano, buddy." He made no further effort.

She drove away from the studio, pressing her foot far too heavily upon the gas pedal; she was fuming. In fact, she was beyond that—she was livid, and would only continue to seethe to boil over. But beneath the anger, there was another emotion. Was it sadness? She has suffered rejection before, and will most assuredly suffer it again in the future. Many had made quite clear that they considered her a joke, so the questionable insults were nothing shocking, though unfounded they often were.

Something stung within her, though; was it guilt? No. Why should she have felt any guilt? She has done what she had to in order to make a life for herself. To pursue her own--Aino Minako's--individual dream. If that at any point had involved things she'd rather not remember in the morning, then so be it. People made mistakes. To err, she told herself, was human. She was doing the best that she could.

Still, maybe she regretted some of her more recent past. Maybe the girl she was in high school, the naïvely idealistic child-woman, maybe she would have looked down on what she was today. Maybe the Minako that believed in the intrinsic goodness of people would have spit on the Minako that now compromised herself and others in order to get by, in order to make life bearable. Maybe.

But maybe she shouldn't think on it too hard. It was true, she didn't expect to end up like this, but as she said, she was doing the best that she could…

* * *

The Fire burned as strongly as it always had, and the phoenix living within it had risen from the proverbial ashes too many times to record. The most graceful of dancers, it wound its way among the air currents in the room; it was gaudy, but inherently beautiful. It's beauty, however, belied its inner turmoil. The Fire did not predict happy events. In her days spent meditating before it, waiting for visions to come, not once had she found a vision of better days. Not once had she found a smile waiting for her in the recesses of the flames. And now, she was unable to find much of anything.

The Fire had lay silent seven long years.

Rei smiled wanly. The Fire, fickle thing that it was, had not even thrown a scrap of a hint to her about Grandfather. His death the previous autumn hadn't come as a total shock; after all, Rei knew he was getting on in years, and couldn't get out of bed but for so long each day…she knew that even praying had become an ordeal for him, but his passing was difficult, nonetheless. She thumbed shut his eyes with tears flowing like wine from her own.

Planning the funeral, of course, had taken her away from her work. It was nothing lavish, and she knew Grandfather would have preferred it that way. He was eccentric, yes, but he was a shrewd man. Practical. Rei had inherited that from him. Her eyes, now, looked on the world warily. She did not trust easily, and she was not frivolous. Which is why the funeral had been so small, so rapidly plotted. His casket was cheap, she knew, but she tried to force herself to remember that a corpse is a corpse and would be taken to the earth in an extravagant coffin no differently than it would be in a cardboard box. Maggots find rotting flesh wherever it is kept.

He was a good man; he had raised her as a proper girl should be raised.

She did not cry. Not then.

She had inherited sole ownership of the Hikawa Shrine, and had to make many, many sacrifices in order to devote her full time to the machinations of it. She'd had dreams, she thought; vague ones, sure, but maybe she could have made something of her life. The Shrine, now, was her life. It was no chore to her; there had always been the possibility in her mind that the running of the Shrine would be her path. But she found herself wondering in quiet times what she might have done without the burdens of tradition. The cherry blossoms bloomed and fell, and she felt as an old woman must with the passing of the cycles.

And now, now she had things running smoothly once more. Perhaps, she sometimes liked to think, even better. She had hired fresh blood; some high school kids looking to get a bit of extra money. They made it easier on Rei; they helped some, but more than that, they brought life to the temple. She wasn't ready for this big number, this twenty-three, this real life that she was barely learning how to figure out on her own. She knew that it was pathetic, she knew that bringing kids in to make her feel like she might reclaim something she's lost forever…she knew it was stupid. But maybe it was something that got her through the day. Her raven hair would begin to grey soon, she was certain. Only twenty-three years old, but silver would suit her just as well.

She prayed to the Fire daily, and with each passing day she found with reluctance the relief at viewing a visionless flame. And yet sometimes, she wondered if it, too, was hiding things away for safe-keeping. She wondered what the Fire kept from her, behind its façade of omnipotence.

On this morning, she woke and dressed, she pulled her hair up into the traditional, tightly laced bun, and sipped pensively at a soft white tea. Her thoughts were warbled, amassed, she could not pick one from another. Suddenly, one jumped out to her; a memory.

The five of them, warding off Beryl's minions in the Arctic. Valiantly, they fought, but to no avail. She had died for the first time in this incarnation that day. The chill of the frost was nothing to the cold of death. She had doubted Usagi-chan initially, but found them without foundation. The bond they forged, the love they shared, it redeemed all. Beryl fell as quickly as she had risen, and good—or what they believed to be good—had reigned victorious. Where did all of that go?

Silently, she padded down the halls of the Shrine to the hidden room. A feeling pricking the underside of her gut had prompted her odd return. Closing the door behind her, she sat upon the cold wood lining the floor. She was accustomed to the feel of the sterile, repellant hardwood by now. It was almost welcoming.

The Fire flared up indignantly; she was there only hours before, and it did not take well to company. But what happened next reminded Rei just how erratic Fate--and the Fire--tended to be.

Just as she went to return to the mundane chores she knew awaited her, she noticed it; in the center of the flame, a tiny flicker. It was but a blip, a miniscule interruption of the Fire's gentle ballet, but she had seen it, and wondered if the Fire could feel the beats of her heart, as its pulse took on the sudden speed in rhythm that she had.

The specificities evaded her, but the flicker did not bode well. What flicker ever did? And the Fire was never wrong.

She smiled softly as dusty and iced-over parts of her soul suddenly warmed to the Fire's reminder of repaired fates. Her daily duties awaited her.

* * *


	2. One: Resurrection

**Ascension**  
_One: Resurrection_  
-mentalyoga-

* * *

And so it began. All great calms must cease in the stead of new journeys and new obstacles. The laws of gravity withstood all; and as they had enjoyed—or not—their time of silence, so now they must face the deafening pitch of dark times ahead. Rei was a staunch believer in the balance of good and evil forces, and thus, in the balance of peace and war, of contentedness and despair, of optimism and pessimism. She was a realist. Some didn't agree with that sort of outlook on life; why take up the bleak burden of existentialism if it wasn't necessary? Rei thought it was naïve to live otherwise; she was one who liked to be prepared. And what else could justify the world's darkest cruelties, the women beaten to pulps by husbands, the children abandoned to dumpsters and toilets, the betrayals and backstabs and direst fates? Rei's eyes—these eyes that looked out on her cruel worldwere dark as a ripe plum, aching with the juices of life, but a shrewdness lay in the black speckles lining her irises. These eyes reflected a woman who had grown accustomed to pain but had seen it through with a solid fortitude. The last seven years, despite their evident lack of destiny-laden adventures, future-stealing youma, and magic-girl transformations, had been tough on Rei. 

There was grandpa, of course; his death brought about the imminent end of the Hino line, as it stood. Of course, Rei could one day have children, but it seemed unlikely. In the past seven years, Rei had done quite a bit of soul searching, and had discovered that she knew very little about herself and very little of her desires and her plans. One such surprise was that in her vision of her future, men were suspiciously absent. Though admittedly, she couldn't say that women weren't particularly prevalent in the picture of her path, either. Love was not something Rei put much faith in; she could leave that to Minako, or to Usagi, who was, it seemed, eternally pleased with Mamoru. For when she looked on them and saw the brief spark of a passionate red glow between them, she knew that no such light had ever alighted on her cheek. And this glow, it was not something she foresaw stringing along among her threads of fate. Love, Rei had decided, was simply a warm gun against the cold threat of reality. There was no real connection behind it, simply a façade built of the smoke that spilled from the barrel once shot; the searching of two lonely souls for something to fill an eternally burst dam. So perhaps this seclusion was the true fate left to her, after the first plan—the save-the-world thing—had gone down the drain.

Her thoughts drifted back to the flicker in the Fire; only a brief blip on the radar, but something felt different about this. She had known dire times before; this was something more. She was simply unsure how, or why. She came to suddenly, from the comfort of her thoughts, just in time to stop before knocking an old biddy over. She had forgotten completely that she was roaming like a lost nomad through the makeshift vending stands in the center of the shopping mall.

"Why don't you watch where you're going, missy?" the lady spat coldly. Her eyes glistened as the light caught her cataracts, though maybe once they had been a pallid green in color, and a frumpy Hawaiian-print frock concealed the fact that her breasts drooped below her ribs, recoiling agains the youth Rei paraded about still. Her mouth opened slightly, revealing a black void behind the shriveled lips, and Rei noted that there likely was not a single real tooth in her entire mouth. Her anger towards the woman shrunk into pity, and finally receded into shame.

"Yeah, sure," she replied, as nonchalantly as if nothing had ever happened. The old woman looked livid, but Rei didn't care. What was the significance of such a small scuttle in the grand scheme of things?

And it was at precisely that moment that the scheme of things ultimately became so much grander.

What happened first was the pregnant pause in which the world seemed to stand still; nervously trembling and with bated breath. This inhalation was the necessary defense against the possibility of having the wind knocked suddenly, violently out. She felt a sudden surge of power to her immediate left, wedged somewhere between the calendar cart and the booth where the tiny, traditional Japanese woman sold cheaply fashioned jewelry to unwitting tourists.

Calendars flew everywhere, and pages rained down from the ceiling beams, some shredded, some simply wafting along on the slight breeze passing through the ventilation system. A much too precious photo of a kitten-filled wicker basket landed somewhere in the vicinity of an image of two young Japanese girls with obtrusively large breast implants passionately tongue-wrestling. The jewelry woman who parasitically made her living on others' misfortune scuttled into the safety of a nearby restroom, while the other shoppers scattered like small insects frightened by the beam of a flashlight.

Rei didn't pause for a moment, but immediately began searching for a secluded area in which she could reclaim all that had ever been dear to her. She knew, or at least she thought she did, that all was to be put right once more. Her destiny had faltered off-course for a short period of time, but she was to be placed back upon the pedestal she had fallen off of seven years earlier. And in the moment of the collective holding-of-breath, Rei could feel the palpable realignment of misplaced fate.

She could feel the old energy bursting through her veins, steadily raising her adrenaline levels, filling her with an overwhelming sense of invincibility. The energy that prepared her for battle. She felt more alive than she had been since the final battle with Chaos, and she knew that she was taking on the glow of eternity, as she whipped around the corner of the shop, and secured her spot in the small corridor.

But would she still have the old powers left within her? Could they have dried up like prunes, after going without use for so much time? She nervously inhaled, trying desperately to concentrate on the old power reserves she had drawn on. She prayed to the kami that someway, somehow, this would work out. She did not have to concentrate very hard, as a thrust built up within her and the familiar phrase lurched from her throat.

"Mars Eternal Power, Make Up!"

* * *

It was like the unexpected popping of a large chewing gum bubble, or maybe like the dead fury of an F5 tornado at the exact point it touched the ground and broke through the core, raising hell upon earth. It was sudden, and she knew, too, that it would have been entirely undetectable to any average human being. Perhaps they (the non-average human beings, that is) worked on different wavelengths and frequencies. Like a dog, how only it could pick up the sound of a special whistle. It didn't matter. All that mattered at this point was that it had happened.

The wind wailed a siren's song into her ears, and threw the sandy golden locks adorning her head back into her wake. This rush was almost as good. Almost.

It was beginning once more, and she had wanted it more than anything. After she tied up a few loose ends, she could get right back into the fray of battle.

Haruka smirked as she reached the finish line. First place. She accepted nothing less. She did not, however, stop for celebration. The eastern wind was whispering louder now, telling her to go forth. She knew what she had to do.

* * *

Makoto blew the long wisps of her chestnut curls out of view, remembering suddenly that she kept intending to get a haircut, but never managed to get around to it. Her hair had grown significantly; it was near to reaching the small of her back, and the bangs that had always made her forehead itch were long gone. She wore it down. Maybe she wouldn't get it trimmed up after all. Just last week, Akiyama-san complimented it, telling her he loved long hair on women…not that that made any difference, of course! Makoto would never let some man's expectations delegate her way of life! But for all her feminist fronts, Makoto had been raised in a conservative society that deemed marriage the ultimate goal for everywoman. Someplace in the back of her mind she knew—though did not admit—that she was building the foundations within herself to be the Good Wife. Ah, to be a free woman. She had been one, or something like it, for some time now. Certainly not tied down to the traditions a nuclear family would impose on a young girl, but that freedom came with its fees. To know that she was the most alone she could possibly have been was one such price. A girl without a family was an identity without a name attached. A girl without family behind her had no guarantees that accompanied her; anything could happen, for there was nothing to tie her to predictability.

For all her struggle with the train of thoughts, she drifted quietly back to visions of dancing Akiyama's in her head. He was a sensible plan, were she to imagine herself conforming to predominant values of marriageable men and outcomes. Financially secure, handsome, well-respected…but there was _more_ behind this. There was the spontaneity, the boyishness, the dangerous glimmer in his bright eyes; all of these things told her that she was in for a rough ride with a boy like him. A _man_ like him.

"So you see, it appears that they--meaning the US NASA program--have found yet _another_ planet in our solar system." Makoto glanced up; Ami had never ceased speaking, and hadn't seemed to notice, either, that Makoto's mind was far beyond the realm of whatever was going on in her solo debate. "It's so distant, though, that the period of time deemed a 'day' for this planet, consists of 207 hours, over 50 hours longer than Pluto's. They believe it has a similar consistency to Pluto, in that it's approximately 98 Nitrogen, with some traces of Methane and Carbon Di--" She looked up at Makoto, removing her glasses with a weary air. "Are you even listening to me, Mako-chan?"

Makoto couldn't help but grin, "I'm sorry, Ami. I just…I'm kinda preoccupied, I guess." She chuckled, and brushed her hand back through her hair.

"Not over that…boss of yours, is it?" she smirked, batting her eyelashes and feigning a swoon. She sipped at her daiquiri. "Really, though, is it?"

Makoto felt the flush of heat rise, and readjusted her scarf. "Well, um…not necessarily." Maybe Ami hadn't seen the redness creeping up through her cheeks?

"Oh. Ok," Ami replied casually, "I mean, I believe you, of course. What is it, then?"

Makoto coughed, and tried to conjure up a valid reason. "Er…"

"You're in love with your tall, buff, studly boss!" Ami shoved her, laughing. "Like I would take your bullshit for truth. I've known you since junior high, Mako-chan, don't think you can get away with lying to me!"

"I guess you caught me, then…" she surrendered, blushing even more profusely, "I can't help it! He's just so damn cute. And he's cocky. I love that."

Ami's deep navy blue irises took on a mischievous glint, "I'll bet you love--"

She was cut off by the frantic sounds of a meticulously bleeping emergency broadcast. An impromptu report blared forth from the pub's television set.

"Youma attacks local shopping mall. Nagasaki Kin reports from the scene."

An aging dark-haired reporter stood in front of a melee of destruction. Behind him lay the ruins of a good quarter of the shopping mall.

"I'm standing in front of what used to be a boutique housing plus-size fashions. All that's left now, though, as you can see, are the crumbling walls and wreckage of what lay before. People continue to flee in terror as an unidentified creature pillages this popular shopping hangout. Shouts of 'youma' erupt from the innocent bystanders. The monster is approximately eight feet tall and deep green in color In addition to its uncanny brute force, it appears to be causing further damage without any physical force. We'll switch over to our resident scientist and reporter, Koizumi Ken, for a briefing on the possibility of energy waves being used by—

The monster appeared quite suddenly behind the reporter. His face crumpled in fear as he attempted to maintain a collected veneer.

"As viewers can see, the monster has--"

The aforementioned monster tore the shrieking reporter from the floor and tossed him effortlessly against one of the still-standing brick walls lining the perimeter. His body made an audible cracking sound as a few lone bricks crumbled and sprinkled the tile floor. The man did not get up.

Soon thereafter, the video was interrupted abruptly with a steady stream of static.

Ami adjusted her glasses, and looked despairingly to her friend. "Do you think…" She paused, calculating silently.

But Makoto was never one to hesitate. "This would be our cue, Ami-chan," she chuckled grimly. Makoto tossed a generous tip back on the surface of the table, just before sprinting out the door and into a nearby side alley. Ami quickly followed suit. The waiter's wide eyes followed their path, wondering what could have caused the commotion, but he didn't complain. They were damn good tippers.

Making sure no one would pass by unexpectedly, the girls pulled out their transformation pins. Fate turned once again, as it seemed ever prone to do. And this particular fate would change everything all over again. They inhaled sharply in unison, and made the decision that always felt just out of reach. The decision, they had concluded, that was _right_.

In a flash of emerald and sapphire lights, two senshi were resurrected from a seemingly infinite death. A cat stumbled away from the light show, blinded for a few moments, but recovering quickly enough to haul away from the scene. They leaped up the roof of the building and went off to fulfill their destinies.

* * *

Running her fingertips down the smooth skin of her stomach, Usagi was suddenly doubled over on the floor, excruciating pain claiming her abdomen. Somewhere, something significant had shifted without warning. She was of the cast that trusted their instincts, and she had never kept her true feelings hidden behind any wall of rational thought. She knew with a stark clarity what had happened, but knew not when, or where. She could not help them, and felt pathetically helpless.

How many fates turned around in that moment?

* * *

It wasn't looking like there would be a pleasant outcome, Rei mused grimly, watching the monster watch her as she prepared the energy for her next attack. She prayed to the kami to help her through this, and focused on the powers she needed to raise. She could feel the fire racing through her veins, moving faster even than the adrenaline already pulsing around and about. It throbbed within her, invigorating her, and quite suddenly, her vision darkened in a sea of crimson.

She pulled the arrow back against its accompanying bow, and at the exact peak of tension released it, "Flame sniper!" The tip of the arrow shot out with a wide arc, and swerved with the air currents, using the oxygen to fuel its flame. And as it went to hit the monster squarely in the forehead, the monster reached out with its bulky arm-like appendage and crushed the arrow, midair. Rei's felt her heart sink as easily as it had taken flight.

It would be another five minutes before she could attack again, easy, if not more.

The monster realized this, and gave her the most miniscule of head starts, before it came tearing towards her at a frightening speed.

All that was left to do now, of course, was to run.

She could feel the vibration of its energy field behind her, as valid and as powerful as her own. Did this mean, then, that it was alive, in some form or another? As far as she knew, there had to be some semblance of life within an entity for it to put off this kind of energy, but she could be mistaken. Her footsteps pounded against the floor in rhythmic motion, but she could hear just as well its large feet falling like little earthquakes, pounding fast and mercilessly into the thin floor of the mall. It was gaining on her quickly. She looked around for any possible route of escape, anything to simply give her a few moments of breath.

Up ahead, she saw a corridor that was clearly too small for the hulking misshapen mass. Glancing behind her once quickly, she saw that it had fallen back, if only by a few yards, and she grinned. All she needed were a precious few seconds, just to inhale for a moment without feeling the need to collapse onto the shining tiles beneath her.

She turned into the hall, and made a mad dash towards the door waiting at the end of it. Strangely, though, she could still hear another set of steps behind her. A mall patron, perhaps, chasing after her in the hope of some protection against an inevitable fate? She checked for herself.

Her grin dropped away as rapidly as it had arrived. There the monster was, right behind her, and the corridor hadn't even slowed it up. It had taken new form, shape-shifted, presumably, and was now about her size. From the look of it, however, it was no less powerful than before, only more compact, and just as fierce.

Her energy had not replenished itself sufficiently enough for her to fire something off at it again, and so the door at the end of the hall would simply have to save her. If she could get through, it would give her the few seconds she would need. Maybe it would even lead into some place she could hideout until she had composed herself.

The door gained clarity as she neared it, and she forced herself into a more tiring sprint than she could remember ever having done before, almost throwing herself at it as she finally came into arm's length. It was as though she had thrown herself against a brick wall. The solidity was shocking, and it would not budge an inch. The sign mounted read, 'Mall personnel only.' The bolt lock loomed menacingly, just below her eye level.

She kicked at it, and pushed all of her weight into it; she saw, with a terrible fear invading her heart, that she had no other way out. Now she was trapped, with no hope of escape. The hall was too narrow for her to rashly pass it by, and too low for her to leap overtop. It glared at her as it neared, only a few yards away. If it had had a mouth, she thought with grim resignation, it would have smiled at her.

If only she had a little more time, just a half-minute; the fire was just beginning to surge again. But it was not enough, she knew. She clenched her jaw and prepared herself for the imminent doom that lay before her. After seven years, she had reclaimed her rightful throne for just one last time, and herein lay her end. Going down in the line of battle, she supposed, was not such a terrible way to go. She had always been one for heroic and romantic endings—the means would eventually justify themselves.

Its eyes glinted crimson as it gazed upon her, and it raised its arm to bring about the death she knew awaited her. She flinched.

A flash of light preceded the shout. "Oak Evolution!"

As razor-sharp blossoms rained down and whipped about, Mars jumped to the side, dodging the hazardous aftereffects of the attack. The monster crumbled to the floor, and she stepped cautiously into the main strip of the mall. The fluorescent lighting flickered on and off, on and off—damaged, but intact enough to irritate.

"How did you--"

Jupiter laughed. "It was on the news, silly. All that matters is that we're here, right?"

Mars looked to her left, finding Mercury leaning against a sunglass vendor's stand. Her smile was infectious.

"Do you know if everyone made it out safely?" her blue-haired comrade inquired, responsible as ever. "We were unfortunately witness to the reporter's demise, but hoped that everyone else managed on their own."

Mars shrugged. "I'm not sure. I was more concerned at the time with avoiding my own demise. Didn't really have much backup to take care of bystanders, you know?" She winked. "I'm glad you two made it here, though. We better split up and check the area now, though. I know I saw at least a dozen or so escape out of that exit," she pointed south and took a few steps towards it. "I can check down there, if you'd like." Taking this responsibility back in her hands bled new life into her weary heart. Finally, a purpose! Finally, a reason given for Grandpa's death, for the seven years of solitude, for the sleepless nights spent praying to some gods she had begun to doubt the existence of. A renewed faith sparked inside of her, and her smile had begun to ache from the vigor she had taken in allowing it to break free.

It fell away. Vicious sounding footsteps alighted behind her once more.

Mars turned around, finding the monster coming perilously nearer to her. The energy it gathered became blinding, and Mars shielded her eyes in quick defense. But in so doing, she knew her escape had been eliminated and the daimohn was already upon her. She could feel the icy chill of energy it sent out ahead of itself. She braced herself against the collision she knew was to break her.

"Mars!" Jupiter cried out, jumping in front of her...

…and evidently, right into the monster's path. Mars watched in horror as the girl's body was tossed like a stuffed doll through the glass window pane of a nearby boutique. The glass shards glinted dangerously in the light, and Jupiter did not rise.

"No!" Mercury's howl rang along the halls with an eerie echo against the walls. She ran to the fallen girl's aid, and Mars realized she had been, once more, left alone with the very large, very angry mass of power.

She drew her arm back. "Flame Sniper!"

The arrow veered in the direction she hoped it would quite easily, but bounced off of the monster's chest as though it had struck cold steel. It instead lodged itself into a lilac prom dress through the now-open window where her friend had landed. The dress burst into flames, causing a domino effect among the racks of clothing. The fire, she knew, would soon be far out of hand, and the monster came flailing at her still.

Mercury cried out as the store she was now trapped in was consumed in fire, the heat causing her eyes to shed tears in protest, drying out quickly. She struggled against the burning to reach Jupiter's limp body, but soon discovered that she could not lift her. With all of her effort, she was still but a scrawny brain, and Jupiter was tall, fit, utter dead weight. The flames crept toward them among the racks like vultures slowly circling around a slowly dying rabbit, waiting for a peak in fear before striking. Mercury knew that she did not have more than a minute—maybe less.

Mars saw her two compatriots losing their battle, but had no time to spare on them, as she was losing her own.

Her breath was ragged; every inhalation drew as much pain into her lungs as it did oxygen, and every exhalation instigated a fitful coughing attack. She thought she might have broken a rib when she tumbled over, dodging an attack. The smoke gathering from the fire was doing her no favor. Her muscles didn't want to obey the neural messages her brain sent, and she was almost certain her knees would fail her at any moment, and she'd be lying on the ground, waiting for death. Her energy reserves were almost completely drained; it would some time before she could unleash another attack.

It was not one of her finer moments, to say the least.

The monster barreled towards her once more, relentless. She would not make it this time.

"Shabon Spray!" Mercury tried once again, hoping the fog would suppress the flames, for even a few moments. It seemed to take no effect. The fire simply kept coming, and she had budged Jupiter's lifeless body only inches. The yard between the spot at which they struggled and the open, flame-free space may as well have been a football stadium. She felt a sudden urge to give up and save herself, a shameful and brief thought, but quickly pushed it from her mind. That she could even consider such cowardice disgusted her. If the girl who had fought at her side for nearly a decade was to fall, then so too would she go down in struggle. It was not a practical move, but it was what she knew was right. Horror-stricken, she flinched at the sudden explosion of several bottles of perfume only a few feet to the left—the alcohol in each bottle sprayed out in an array of shooting flames. Flames that landed inches past her unconscious friend's sailor boots. She tugged Jupiter's legs up and away from the flames, but it would delay the inevitable for only a few moments. Mercury shut her eyes against this hopeless situation; for all their hard work and years of experience, a simple fire was enough to take two of them down. A single battle, a single chance, and they had failed. She did not want to be remembered in this moment…

And it was, as occasionally happens at the most dire of moments, that exact moment that they heard the call of a savior.

"Space Sword Blaster!"

Mars and Mercury shielded their eyes as a blinding yellow light filled the mall's corridors. After a moment, the light had dissipated, and all that was left behind was a faint spottiness marring their vision. Mercury looked over to see Jupiter's body moved out of harm's way, and found Uranus ushering her own unwilling limbs in the same direction.

The monster had shattered into tiny fragments, now scattered along the scuffed tiles like so much dust.

"Well, that was easier than you kids made it out to be," Uranus grinned, placing a hand despairingly on her waist. "You're outta practice," she went on, laughing.

Jupiter's eyes opened, and she managed to groan, before going into an uncontrollable coughing fit. "Who the hell ran me over?" she squinted once her lungs were back in her control, looking from face to face accusingly.

Even Mercury managed to giggle. "Oh, just one of those damned glass panes. Road rage, you know."

"Anything broken?" Uranus asked her, pressing her fingertips against Jupiter's ribs. The brunette let out a high-pitched squeal as Uranus placed pressure on her lower left. "No, that's just a real nice bruise. It's gonna kill in the morning, but you'll survive. Does any other pain seem unbearable?"

Jupiter winced, standing up with great effort. "I don't think so. But next time, can you save the bravado, and make your appearance _before_ I'm lying limp in a blanket of glass shards? If you had been much later, my meat would have been cooked tender enough to slip right off my bones."

"No, I was giving you a run for you money, kiddo. Just because you think it's okay to be out of shape doesn't mean I condone it," she smirked, punching Jupiter playfully in the shoulder. The girl yelped in pain. "Oops…" she trailed off, running her gloved hand through her choppy blondish hair, and winking. "Well, anyhow, I didn't hear anything about it until my communicator went off. Apparently, one of your communicators took matters into its own hands."

"I wasn't aware they had that ability," Ami remarked smartly. "I'll have to run a few tests later, to see if we can't have them work on a more effective schedule." She looked down at the floor and knelt down, silently picking up a miniscule fragment of the monster left in the wake of Uranus' attack. "I might want to test this first…" she muttered. "It certainly has an odd molecular structure," she went on, her Mercury goggles securely framing her face, though the others could not see the readings the brainy girl was referencing. "Hmm, I'm not quite sure what this might resemble…"

"Well," Mars interrupted, "I guess we can safely assume this isn't a freak occurrence then, right? We're back in business?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Uranus replied. "One foul monster does not an outright war make."

Jupiter scratched her head. "Translation? We don't play wordgames." She winked. "You're right, but when have we ever had a isolated attack of this nature? This kind of creature isn't really one to make its own orders. There's usually a larger force at work."

Rei nodded, placing her hands on her hips stubbornly. "Glad you all agree with me." The other three girls looked around, confused, but kept quiet. "Then we need to get back into the swing of things; a meeting, with _all_ of us together, is pretty imperative. I've still got the temple; it will work perfectly." She looked quickly to Uranus, "Gather Michiru and Setsuna…and Hotaru, I suppose. We'll take care of Usagi and Minako. How does tomorrow evening, eight-ish sound?"

Uranus nodded dourly.

"Well, then it's settled. We'll all be there tomorrow, and we can figure out what the hell we do now."

"Right," Ami agreed. Jupiter was leaning her weight against the blue-haired genius for support.

"We should probably head out, before the paparazzi get here and starts asking questions," the injured girl managed to mutter. "We'd never escape. Or…at the least, I wouldn't. I can't move all that quickly." Uranus strode up to her within the blink of her eye, and hoisted the tall girl onto her back.

"Let's go."

And with that, four otherwise average girls were once again set apart by a much greater destiny. They vanished from the scene just before the reporters arrived, scavenging the halls like roaches. There was no trace that the senshi were there, but it was an unsaid nugget of knowledge. The news reports that evening were preposterously off-base, but one fact remained: the senshi had made a triumphant return.

* * *


	3. Two: Reunion

**Ascension**

_Two: Reunion_

-mentalyoga-

_(A/N: A lot of the topics I've been dealing with will become heavier starting in this chapter. Some of the material may be questionable; if you have any problem with it, let me know, so that I can adjust the rating accordingly.)_

* * *

The makeup ran smooth, an oil to sooth her freshly bruised skin. She had become accustomed to this cosmetic ritual; her bowing down before the gods of beauty. Beauty, her mother used to say, was not without its fair share of pain.

Minako knew this well. It was not his knuckles that left the deepest scars—though they did dent the surface—but the knowledge that he didn't value her enough even to spare her these small pains. But men, she had found with time, rarely put much worth in the women they strung around and puppeteered at will.

The comments the men had made at the audition a couple of days ago still stung, but she had felt the needles of rejection and of mindless denigration times enough before. Their display was more show than anything, a self-serving act of egoism intensified by group mentality. She turned back to her own overgrown wasp; he was lying limp on the bed behind her.

The sheets and the room smelled of sex, of sweat and juice and limbs running together like liquid, languorous and rough simultaneously. Minako eyed the spots of blood splattered on the periwinkle pillow case with a weary resignation. His lids were closed, and his stinger harmless for the moment.

The foundation had covered things up sufficiently; her complexion was a false one but the tone was even, and it would not tattle on her when she met Them once more. Seven years of waiting, waiting. Wanting and longing, but always keeping her need firmly in check against her ambition.

He rustled, and her muscles jerked involuntarily. It was a false alarm; he had only turned away from her, his bare ass gleaming white in the dingy light of the fluorescent overhead. She heaved a sigh of relief, as quietly as a heaving sigh could possibly be. He did not move. She returned to her work.

She fingered the cylindrical eyeliner, sharpening to tip to a dangerous point. If she drew it thickly on the lower lid, it would detract attention from the slight discoloration on the cheekbone below. She had learned at least a little something at the acting academy. She hadn't, in her four years there however, learned quite how to survive. A slight touch of color on the cheekbones wouldn't hurt. She used a tip one of the dancers at the academy had thrown to her, scrap-like; she rubbed a small dab of pink lip gloss in a circular motion over the suspect area. Fresh, a high-morning dew.

Fresh, like the girl she had been so many years ago. She would be leaving this present tense place soon to travel back in time to a past she had once considered more a home than any other abode she had had. The Hikawa Shrine and its foreign inhabitants had been the closest thing to happiness she had known. When her mother had shrieked at her, throwing dirty pottery mugs in her vague direction, too sauced to make a direct hit, Minako had strutted (after drying away the stains the tears trailed down her cheeks) to the temple and found love, whatever that was.

And now she had gotten a call. They wanted—no, needed—her back with them. There had been calls before; calls pressing her to come and gossip, or binge eat, or simply catch up. But everything seemed so requisite, as if they formed these spider webs stringing everything together only because it seemed necessary to feed. Webs could break so easily, and Minako had better things to worry ab—

—he was awake. She could sense the shift in the atmosphere as his presence subjugated all that hung around him, and his oppressive weight bore down. She felt an overwhelming desire to steal out now, while he was still rubbing the sleep from his lashes.

The shuffling became more fervent, and a sweat broke out silently above her well-waxed brows. She clenched her purse, white knuckles mocking her calm veneer. Her thoughts tripped over one another, but she could not scheme her way out of this meeting. She remembered the call she had gotten only an hour ago.

_She had hastily grabbed the phone, eager to silence its incessant ringing. "Minako-chan!"_

_Her ears had recognized the speaker—Rei, her voice older, wiser, and more bitter—but her mind told her not to care. It was best that way. "Yes?"_

"_How are you?" came the familiar voice. Minako had answered tersely, not wishing to awaken the sleeping beast in the next room. "Oh. Well, look, have you turned on the news lately? No?" The voice became serious in a quick shift. "You need to come to the temple. We'll be meeting there in an hour and a half."_

"_I can't," Minako had replied, formulating an excuse with a well-honed skillfulness. "I—"_

_The other girl did not give her a chance to answer. "No excuses. No time for any bullshit, Minako," Rei scolded. "I don't have much opportunity to explain, but it's all beginning again. The monsters, the fighting, the apocalyptic consequences—our destinies have been pushed back to their beaten paths, and all that mess. You're not getting out of this. We need you to be here. You can't run from this. Time to face reality, hon."_

_Minako had become angry then, though it wasn't right. She knew that there were no choices, she knew that it wasn't Rei's fault, but this fate wasn't what she needed now, not when maybe she would end up getting a role, or maybe something would start to happen for…_

'Who the hell are you to judge me, Rei? You're just as fucked up as I am, probably more. You're nothing to me," _she had thought._

_But no, she would be strong. Rei was, after all, quite right. She could not run. And so she made what she considered the right decision. "I'll be there."_

And now, the time had come to—yes—face this wild and frightening thing called reality. But still she had to leave the room.

She would simply slip by before—

"Where you going all dolled up?" he inquired, suddenly much more awake than she had thought he would be. His eyes widened, his mouth hung slightly slack, and the stench of a sleeping, sweaty man wafted through the air as he shifted in the bed.

Her mind tumbled through excuses and she smiled sweetly, "An audition. I was…um…called back for that part I went up for the other day." Her grip on the purse tightened as she awaited his reaction.

"_You're lying to me, Minako. You're going off to some other guy, aren't you? Think I don't know, you sleeping around like some sort of free-ride whore? You leave the room and I'll slit your thro—"_

She shook her head, throwing the waking dream from her thoughts.

He smiled, though it came off more as a grimace. "Congrats. Show 'em your stuff, babe," he laughed and threw off the sheets, his pale naked body looked as if it were waning. He kissed her hard and smacked her ass lightly, sending her out the door.

The anchor weighing her heart down released with a snap, and she heaved a quick sigh of relief before striding out to her car; she was not going to allow him time to fulfill her fantasy.

She sped off, increasingly aware that fate was driving her far more strongly than she it, by now. It was not a comforting thought.

* * *

"I just don't understand why we _have_ to do this," she whined, twirling a delicate cerulean fingernail through her tendril-like locks. "I mean, it's been seven years. I don't even know that I've still got it left in me. The five of them…why can't they take this on without us? They did it for a long time while we searched for the Talismans…" 

Haruka sighed softly, though not imperceptibly; she felt her lover's shrewd eyes following her like daggers poised for attack. Why did it always have to be like this? Why couldn't they agree on anything?

"Because, Michi, this is destiny calling—don't you see that? Don't you have any sense of duty, of responsibility? You just want to throw those girls to the wolves while we stand by watching? You of all people I expected to take this challenge by the horns." She rustled through the fridge, finding only a stinking boiled egg and a jug of expired orange juice. "When was the last time we went shopping?" she asked, wrinkling her nose as she tossed the jug into the silver trash can next to the counter.

"We haven't been home much," the smaller woman reminded her, a fierce glance replacing the mild irritation, "and how dare you judge me or my motivations in this. This isn't about responsibility; this is about living our lives, Haruka. This is about the fact that we've built up everything that makes us who we are right now, and you want to throw it all away. How do you think you're going to balance your racing career and your public profile with running around in a mini-skirt, fighting evil-doers? And what about my music, my art? How the hell am I supposed to live for my Self…how can _we _live for _us_ when we're trying to save the world? What if we decide we want to settle down at some point, raise some sort of a family? Aren't we dysfunctional enough as it is? You want to throw everything we've got—which is already on shaky ground—so that you can keep living a dream." She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, her chest visibly shaking. "It's not a fucking dream, Haruka, this is life or it's death. I can't even count the number of times I stayed up all night nursing your wounds, nearly passed out from worrying whether or not you would make it. And you know what? I don't miss that—the wrapping up of your bloodied arms, the shrieks you made when I sanitized the wounds, the fear of los—" Haruka thought briefly that these pleas sounded as if from a movie—maybe on some all-women, all-the-time network—and she wondered what the appropriate cinematic response would be. But this was no time for joking.

Michiru paced the kitchen, not joking at all, with worry lines drawing a faint pathway from her nostrils to her mouth and in creases above her brows. Haruka had never seen her lover look so, well…old. Old. Weary, too. For a moment, her resolve waned, and she wondered if she could put them through this again, if she could face impending doom with the same reckless, unflinching bravado of youth. But no, she couldn't allow a little string of fear knock her out of the game. Her resolve sharpened once more, climbing to a quick summit. She didn't want to fight her lover on this, but if it came right down to it…

"You know? So did I, Michiru. I mean, dammit! Every single time I looked over and saw you lying limp on the ground, I could feel your pain running through my veins as real as if it were my own. Don't think you were the only one who suffered during any of that! We all did. When are you going to realize that people exist outside of your little fucking seashell?" She could feel Michiru recoil, and the atmosphere noticeably shifted, suddenly cool as a winter's iced wave. She hadn't meant to be harsh, just wanted to give her a wake-up. "Look, I'm sorry…" she whispered gently, pulling the other woman's much slighter frame against her own. "I know it's going to be hard; adjustments will be made. But we can't just leave the world to fend for itself; we've been chosen, and now we've got to make the most of it."

Michiru tensed for a moment, fighting the urge to give in, fighting the feelings and words and thoughts that would let things into her seashell, grains of sand and things…but her eyes welled up, allowing a tear (a pearl?) to tumble down the smooth ivory of her cheekbone; she blinked it away and looked up. "I don't want to watch you die." No tears came this time.

Haruka pulled her closer, and they were two halves that were more than the sum of their parts, more than just a simple whole. Her body fit so snugly covering her lover's that it seemed improper, naked, when they drew apart. And again, she felt suddenly as though she were involved in some dykey self-help reenactment. Two halves of a whole? Naked without her? But it was how she felt; she wouldn't deny the fact that she felt invariably incomplete without this woman by her side. She rubbed Michiru's bared shoulder. "You're not going to," she muttered reassuringly, "I'm far too stubborn to die without dragging you with me."

Michiru smirked, pushing away and tugging silver hoop rings through her ears and a scarf around her swan-like neck. "And I'm too delicate to go anywhere without you as a nice little barrier," she said, grabbing door handle. "So now that that's settled, let's get going. Fashionably late is one thing; thirty minutes late is just gauche."

Setsuna stood awkwardly on the doorstep, looking distinctly uncomfortable as she shifted her weight from left foot to right. For being such a stand-up, mythic, guardian figure, the ageless woman certainly had a habit of making herself seem gawky and ill-at-ease. She thrust out a half-hearted smile.

Haruka patted her on the back, "You can take the girl out of the Gates of Time, but I guess you can't…ahem…never mind," she cut herself off, noticing Michiru's reprimanding glance. "It's good to see you, Setsuna."

An arm far too short to be Setsuna's quite unexpectedly popped out from her side. A dainty head followed. "Haruka-papa, Michiru-mama!" Hotaru exclaimed, rushing out and hugging the breath out of the two of them. She must be nearly the age they were when they became full-fledged senshi, but still had the looks about her of the miniature girl they knew before. Some disorder, some faulty genes maybe…she would have her youthful appearance all of her life, for better or worse. A woman-child for all of eternity. It wasn't a fate the three women would wish on anyone, but she did not seem to miss a beat. "Why don't you two ever visit anymore? Setsuna-mama and I get lonely in that big house…we'd love to have you over."

Haruka tousled the girl's raven-black hair. "We've been real—" she began, but soon saw the girl's downtrodden eyes, and simply said, "We'll come more often. I'm sorry."

The girl looked up, her eyes glistening like jewels, and Haruka couldn't look past them without falling into remembrances of seven years earlier, when they raised her as if she were their own. That's when the "mama" and "papa" names fell into place; Haruka missed it. She assumed Michiru did, too, but they had stopped finding time to visit when Setsuna and Hotaru moved away. It was strange how things worked out; how close a bond could be shared and how easily that thin thread could be snapped into wisps of what once was. Acting as a father to someone had always felt so important; she had felt significant, even more than when she was battling the evil forces that seemed so dire at the time. Raising Hotaru had been the best thing she had ever done, and she didn't even know it. Now where was she? Living someone else's 'good' life. Maybe she had lost something she could never regain.

She coughed to cover the small whimper that almost escaped her esophagus; it was not the time for emotional breakdowns, not with the world's fate once again hanging in the balance. "Let's get outta here. We'll be late," she muttered gruffly, pulling the door behind them and surreptitiously wiping away a tear. Her eyes itched, that was all.

* * *

The room hung limp and damp, fetid stench lingering in the stale air. Pitch black. A movement would have caught the attention of adjusted vision, if anyone had been there to see. 

"And so it begins," the voice whispered, dying off into the stillness.

* * *

"According to the Mercury computer, there was no determinable cause for its shattering when Uranus hit it," Ami informed them primly, "It can see no reason why only her attack had any effect, whereas the rest of us couldn't even scratch it." 

Jupiter looked indignant, "Well, we can't just have Uranus out there fighting our battles, while we sit and watch, can we? Have you double checked?" To be frank, Jupiter wasn't all that mad at all. Maybe her pride was a bit wounded at being bested once more by the ever-superior Haruka, but her happiness at seeing her friends together outweighed any reservations she had about being there.

Ami lowered her glasses, glaring at her friend, "Yes, Makoto, I have double checked…and triple checked, and quadruple checked…what else would you expect? I'm telling you what I've deciphered; that doesn't mean it's the final word, it's just the extent of my knowledge." She looked flushed, bothered.

Usagi, Rei, and Minako all were seated around the table with them. Usagi and Rei flipped through an old comic, smirking like fools to one another, and Minako compulsively checked her makeup. A slight discoloration around her eye had distracted Ami momentarily, but she quickly put it to the back of her mind. Curiosity killed the cat…

Artemis and Luna stood on opposite corners of the table, licking themselves clean in an almost vulgar manner. Minako swatted the white cat, at which he angrily hissed, but stopped—albeit reluctantly, and only after making a few final showy licks. Luna followed suit soon thereafter.

Makoto quickly made reparations for her anger. "I didn't mean to sound snippy. I just…I felt so helpless out there. Nothing we did affected it, and then big-shot comes in and—"

She was cut off at the sound of footsteps entering the sitting room of the temple. Their four compatriots entered, looking quite apologetic. "We didn't mean to be late," Michiru whispered, sitting Hotaru down and making sure that Setsuna and Haruka hadn't tracked anything in on their shoes. She took their coats and laid them near the door. "We just had a little car trouble," she laughed, exchanging a secretive glance with the other three.

The truth was they had been pulled over for speeding. Haruka could never resist an empty highway and a lightweight gas pedal. They hit 110 mph before the red and blue lights shone and the siren let out its ghastly wail. Michiru flirted their way out of it, but wondered all the while how many times she would have to bail Haruka out because of her childish escapism. It was frustrating, but at the same time, Michiru wasn't going to lie; she found it invigorating. She wanted to be a teenager again, at times like this—to act foolishly and spontaneously (as if she had _ever_ done that)—well, until she remembered the angst and the hormones and the confusion and the zits. Her attention turned back to the problems at hand.

"…Big shot, eh? Didn't know I got the honor of such a clever nickname," Haruka said, shoving Makoto playfully.

The green-eyed girl laughed her off. "Oh, you know I've always been jealous of you," but it was quite clear that her eyes did not join her upturned mouth. It seemed to be some unsaid common knowledge that when the Outer Senshi had come along, Makoto had taken their entrance as invasion—as though her reign as protector of her friends was slipping away from her. The solar system closed in and in on itself. Haruka and the others had taken on a mythic, omnipotent presence, ready to take on anything and everything…and Makoto was just some kid playing like she was in the ranks of the big girls. And it was a dangerous game of dress up, in that respect. It was in the past, as she quickly reminded herself.

So, um, back to business, then. Here's the deal, kids: we have no clue what the monster is, where it came from, or how exactly Haruka managed to kill it with one hit."

"Fantastic," Hotaru remarked, "So does this mean we're basically screwed?"

Setsuna chided her, "Watch your language, 'Taru." Hotaru's bottom lip jutted out in an typical pout, on-cue. Setsuna ignored it, swept her hair out of her face and stood up. "I need some tea. Anyone else, while I'm up?"

Usagi rubbed her stomach idly. "I'll have some, and maybe a little snack," she grinned. "Actually, let me go. It's been a while since I've raided Rei's cabinets. I'll get the tea, too." Rei looked up, shaking her head in mock shame. "I'll be back in a minute," Usagi added playfully.

But once she got there, the cabinets loomed perilously above her, so tall as to throw her into a dizzying haze of vertigo. She reached up but could not fight the nausea that claimed her frail figure. She fell to the floor, and the ensuing crash brought her friends running. The pain in her stomach took hold, white hot electricity zapping even the most out-of-the-way crevices of her nerves. Eight nervous girls crowded near the door entrance to the kitchen, and with a departure as rapid as its arrival, the pain vanished, as though it had only been waiting for an audience.

Minako reached the floor before the others. "Usagi-chan, are you all right?" she asked fearfully, taking the other girl's hand in hers and placing a gentle palm on her forehead. "Your forehead doesn't seem hot…" she said with assurance, as though that was the only possible indication of sickness.

Usagi looked up at the furrowed brows and worried frowns, and at Minako's bruised eye (what had happened, and why was she avoiding any interrogation?) and made a quick change of heart. "I'm sorry," she smiled reassuringly, "I'm just so damn clumsy, you know? Here, just help me up." She held a pale hand out and let Minako pull her to unsteady feet.

She felt as light as a sakura blossom; she could flutter away if the right breeze picked her up. It was not a pleasant feeling, this instability. Her stomach pain had diminished, but the phantom left behind caused more anxiety than its originator. Why did this keep happening? She pushed the food she had brought out back to its proper place in the white cabinet. Her appetite was whetted without any real sustenance for the time being. She knew shoving food down her throat would only instigate a good session of praying at the toilet's edge, and she really didn't want them to worry any more than they already were.

"So what happened?" Rei asked, covering her concern quickly away, "I know my food isn't great, but I didn't think it caused seizures…"

Usagi looked up tersely at her buddy. "I said it was just me being clumsy, didn't I? Go sit down; I'm still getting the tea," she retorted, immaturity claiming her just quickly as the pain had moments before.

"What now?" Michiru asked, as they returned to the table. "First, some unidentifiable youma shows up, and now we have our leader tripping to her death?" Her attention was forcibly placed back on its original path. "Ok, so if we have no idea what this thing is, where its origin lies, or even why it showed up, then what's the point of this meeting? For that matter, how do we know if that wasn't just some freak occurrence…that there'll be more where it came from?"

Ami attempted to smile, but it was strained and hollow. Her eyes had taken on an empty blue, as of a day sky waiting to darken into evening, waiting to rest with the coming moon. "We have to be prepared for the worst, and go on the presumption that this will eventually become an all-out attack. Have we ever really had isolated attacks?" Ail and Ann, she thought to herself, but did not raise the idea aloud. It may have been isolated in number, but it was no minor undertaking. Death had hung over them, waiting for the precise moment to make its collections.

"I still don't understand what the big goddamn deal is!" Michiru continued, undeterred. Her voice shook, a turbulent sea tide, and she grasped Haruka's hand beneath the table, squeezing it with a ravenous grip. It hurt, but Haruka instead silently placed her free hand over her love's. "That could so easily have been the end of it. Why would we go seven years with nothing at all and then suddenly have some out-of-the-blue occurrence?"

"Maybe they've been planning," Ami murmured. This sent a shiver over the group, and Michiru's swirling face settled and calmed.

Rei spoke up, having been quiet for some time, and her expression was a pained one. She had been holding internal deliberations for the duration of the argument. "I saw it in the Fire." Usagi hung against the frame of the kitchen entrance, her features anxious and the ghost of the pain still lingering in her unusually pallid cheeks.

"Saw what…?" she asked, her voice just brushing up against the edge of pleading.

Rei shook her head. "I'm not sure. It was a flicker, but it was the feeling that the flame emanated that caught my attention. Whatever it is, it _is_ here to stay, and it is _not_ a peaceful entity." Her mouth twitched into what seemed like a smirk, but it was contorted…a grimace. "We're in for a doozy, girls."

Michiru got to her feet abruptly, her sudden movement sending another, less powerful ripple through the room. Her purse fell violently from her shoulder, as if offended she should make such impulsive decisions. "Well, I refuse. I refuse to deal with this, and I refuse to give up everything I am living for because of some flicker in a flame. Your fucking mysticism doesn't faze me! This is ridiculous, and I won't stay here to be patronized by a bunch of overachieving, worried little children." She grabbed the purse from its impudent position on the hardwood and strode arrogantly to the door, dragging Haruka in her brutal wake. Haruka, for her part, gave an embarrassed, apologetic glance backwards before she too disappeared through the door frame.

Seven little Indians remained, but the subtle understanding that the meeting would be postponed—at least for now—ran through the current, and Rei was soon alone with nine dirty tea cups and the Fire, which seemed from its corner to mock her with the glee of someone who knew a very big secret.

* * *


	4. Three: Discovery

**Ascension**  
_Three: Discovery_  
-mentalyoga-

* * *

Rei awoke with a scream swinging on the ledge of her lips, but quickly forced her mouth closed, stifling it. Dream armies had invaded her sleep and dropped tiny bombs upon her peace. The mushroom cloud had bloomed above her forehead only briefly in the night, but closed with the dawn. What she had seen had left little hope of a pleasant outcome in her mind. Michiru's pained eyes had haunted her since the meeting, and she dreaded the thought of telling any of them what she had seen. Those eyes—the controlled desperation, the need to maintain whatever threads that had been holding everything uncertainly together—Rei understood those eyes. She knew that what this vision held would ruin everything they had built, could ravage any feelings of normalcy they had slowly allowed themselves to embrace. And that was no easy decision to make, assuming they had any choice at all in the matter. She was well-aware that for her part, she could never be selfish enough to watch the world shatter around her, as she continued acting out some mundane routine her mind was able to cope with. She was blessed with this gift (and this curse, of course), and she intended to use it, if it could make even just some small difference. But the others—would they feel the same way? In any case, the choice seemed unavoidable.

The vision: Tokyo had found itself in the center of a warpath; sky-high buildings lay as rubble along the pavement, corpses lined the sidewalk like limp dolls, and an asphyxiating mixture of dirt and fog hung heavy over every inch in view, which didn't reach very far. Cars were stopped in the middle of the street—drivers sleeping behind the wheel for all of eternity, as though there had simply been no time to park. Crashes filled the roads like thick smoke, choking up the scarce open spaces. The stench had been overpowering (death was no subtle scent, after all), and she had barely managed to keep from gagging as she walked between the haphazardly arranged vehicles. And as she continued her dream journey, day darkened into night (though with the smog that lay over everything, it was difficult to make much distinction between them), and she began to lose her way. Somewhere up ahead in the darkness, though, a red light blinked into and out of view. Rei knew nothing but to follow it, but no matter how far she traveled, the light never came any closer. It was only at the end of the dream that she suddenly found herself within mere yards of the light. And at exactly that point, she was blinded by a flood of crimson, and awoke. A voice, however, had whispered in her ear as she moved towards consciousness over and over again that "the time nears." Whether the voice was male or female, native or foreign, old or young…she couldn't decipher. Either it had been inexplicably ambiguous, or she had simply lost the memory gradually as her eyes sleepily adjusted to the morning.

Her heart ached as she came back into consciousness—an anchor pulling it down into some invisible abyss where many other hearts had gone to die. The question, now, was whether or not she was strong enough to pull it back up from the black hole that held it caged somewhere.

She threw back the covers, now lined with an icy dampness she assumed to be her sweat, and tugged furry slippers onto her chilled feet.

_5:04_, read the clock. Damn it, she thought, now she would never get back to sleep, and she had only stumbled into bed around midnight. It would be, she told herself with a groan, a _very_ long day.

She splashed her face with cold water and patted it dry, hoping to shake off the fear that buzzed about her like a pesky insect searching for a landing zone.

* * *

"Mamo-chan, we need to see the doctor," Usagi said quietly, sitting on the decidedly cold toilet seat, with one knee under her chin to prop her head up. "Right away," she added, timid where she should have been demanding, whiny even.

Mamoru stopped shaving for a moment to turn to the strangely fragile girl. "For what?" he inquired, wondering suddenly if he was prepared to hear some excruciatingly long and predominantly imagined problem she'd come up with.

"I've been having these paralyzing pains in my stomach, Mamoru. When I was at Rei's yesterday, it hit me so badly that I ended up on the floor and…well…I'm scared. I want you to take me, Mamo-chan, please…" she looked up at him, biting her lower lip nervously, "Will you?"

Mamoru placed a shaving cream-covered palm on her knee gently, "Do you even need to ask me that, Usa?" He smiled for her sake, hoping that she would see in him the reassuring façade that she needed right now. Though he wouldn't admit it, he couldn't avoid the innate feeling that this was more serious than it might have seemed. He could not falter. "It's going to be all right," he whispered, pressing his lips to her warm, smooth forehead. She wiped away the trail he left behind, smiling—but her eyes still reflected the cries inside.

The drive was quiet; neither knew exactly what to say to the other as the streetlights were left behind in a blur. Usagi's fear of the doctor's office and all that went along with it consumed her thoughts, and Mamoru was too concerned he would say something stupid—as he had a tendency to do in these situations.

The sterile white of the office was suffocating; flipping through an old copy of some foreign magazine (what was this Vogue thing?) was all Usagi could do to keep herself from panicking. She patted absently at the dampness on her forehead with a tissue from time to time. She didn't want to look unkempt when she strode into the small room where an inevitably creepy doctor waited. They were _always_ inevitably creepy. Usagi couldn't think of a single one she had met that hadn't sent chills through her small frame. Tomoe must have tainted it all for her; his gargantuan glass lenses, the shock of white hair, long skeletal hands…

"Just think," Mamoru said proudly, "One day, I'll be running one of these."

Oh.

Usagi smirked to herself and nodded assent towards him, quickly turning her eyes back to the photo of an unnaturally lean American model. A face painted white with lips a deep crimson—was she meant to be some faux-geisha? But Usagi was not really looking at the model; her mind lingered on the thoughts of the cold stethoscope and the even colder hands. Come to think of it, Mamoru's hands were on most occasions pretty chilled. Well, either way, he didn't freak her out, no matter his vocation. Those cold hands running down her stomach, cupping her breasts…she never minded it all that much.

They had been together almost nine years now, she thought briefly, and wondered how the time had passed them by so quickly, like water weaving its wily way through the cracks in the floor. That was how time worked; you didn't notice its interruption until you slipped in its path and fell hard onto your face. She stopped this thought-train; she was beginning to sound like Setsuna.

"Mrs. Chiba?" a nurse called out gingerly, and the two followed the white-clad woman down a seemingly endless hall. Doors towered ominously on each side, waiting to suck up unwitting patients and shuffle them into fixed categories: healthy…or diseased. Tainted. Unfit for life. The more doors they passed, the more Usagi worried that she would fall prey to the latter of the two. Racking stomach pains, constant nausea, dizzy spells—these weren't signs of any sort of blessed immune system. Maybe it was cancer. Or maybe she had somehow caught consumption and would start coughing up chunks of lung as soon as the doctor diagnosed her. No matter how many options her mind wandered through, it always returned to fancy visions of fatal disease and romanticized death scenes. In them, she would be lying on a white bed beneath a white canopy with a white cloth held up to her mouth as she slowly, excruciatingly hacked up the last of her life force. Mamo-chan would be sitting next to the bed—emaciated (since he would under no circumstances leave her side) and sobbing silently—holding her hand and constantly reminding her that he could never live without her, that he would poison himself as she had poisoned his heart with love. Silly little things like that.

Mamoru, for his part, quietly whistled a tune, while their shuffling steps provided the percussion. He did not put much faith into her overeager waking nightmares. To him it was trivial—probably a stomach flu, at most. He was worried only about her worrying. But still…even he, the professional skeptic, couldn't keep that lingering bad feeling at bay.

They found themselves waiting once more in the next room. Usagi had never understood that sequence of events. Why move from the _waiting_ room only to wait in a different, less comfortable room? She would rather avoid the tissue-paper covered bed in the smaller room as long as possible. Even more sterile and lifeless than the previous room, it seemed filled up with death in each run in the wallpaper, every crevice in between the swabs in the jar, every bent page in the years-old magazines lying in disarray on the footstool. Maybe she was just imagining it all. Imagining all of this eeriness in the office, imagining, indeed, the fairytale disease she thought could be consuming her body. Facing reality was never one of her strong points. She preferred to imagine what might or might not happen; she had been forced to deal with realities far beyond the scope of normalcy, and her imagination was often the only thing holding her up under the weight of that. And in this case, it was the not knowing—the invisible pain crawling through her—that led her to form an imaginary origin.

After a million tiny moments of teetering between boredom and anxiety, the doctor waltzed in and began regurgitating small talk. Social niceties. She made a few noncommittal responses, silently praying to anything and everything that if she were to die, she would do so without looking too hideous, and certainly not in a bland doctor's office decorated with wall paintings of Disney characters.

He ran a few routine tests—reflexes, that stethoscope, bloodwork—while Usagi squeezed onto Mamo-chan's larger, stronger hand. She realized that, unaware, she had been drawing his planetary power out of his hand and into hers to remain calm; had he noticed? She looked to his eyes, but saw only genuine concern and something that looked a lot like…love. She didn't think of it often anymore, but there was always that love there—the sappy, heavy, eternal kind of love that evades most everyone else. The doctor made an unnoticeable exit, and Mamoru pressed his clean-shaven mouth and chin against her forehead, the spot basking in a warm glow for some time after.

"It's going to be fine. I just know it," he whispered, "and would I lie to you?"

Usagi smirked. "Well…"

"Stop it, you," he grinned. "I already told you. It's probably just some sort of stomach virus or something silly like that. He'll throw some meds at you, and off we'll go. Sound good?" He ran his hand through the black mass of hair atop his head, trying to avoid alerting her to the fact that her nervousness had rubbed off on him. This could be something serious. Maybe her fears weren't unchecked. She had a stronger sense of intuition than most, and maybe it was leading her to some accurate conclusion, and here he sat, condescendingly comforting her. But how did that even make sense? They had seen the future; she had no apparent death foretold. They had a few millennia ahead of them—filled with the peace and happiness they had worked so tirelessly for these long years.

Of course, as Setsuna had proven time and again, fates were not set in any sort of stone. They were written instead in something like sand, liable to blow away with a sudden wind or wash and warble beneath the pressures of an errant wave. And there was nothing thus far to lead any of them to believe that Crystal Tokyo would ever come to fruition. Since Chaos, they had done nothing of importance in fulfilling their supposed destinies. Maybe in killing off Chaos, they had upset the balance of something, and their paths weaved themselves away into oblivion. Meanwhile, they went on through daily routines, never realizing they had broken everything down in a single moment now lost in the past.

The doctor entered—interrupting his suddenly dark musings—and he felt Usagi's hand close tightly around his, wringing his knuckles through in order to find some semblance of resolve. He didn't know how much he had left to give her. They took a simultaneous deep breath.

"Well," the doctor began, a serious glint in his eyes, "I've got some news for you. And you'd better stay seated."

* * *

Ami led herself down the hall with a hand pressed firmly against the wall. It was a little support system; if she were to let go, she knew she would fall to the cold floor—and from there, she was unsure whether or not she would be able to get back up. It only happened on occasion, this instability that seemed big enough to break her. The problem was this: whatever happened within her wasn't something she could solve with logic, with her intellectual capacity. And she didn't know how to cope with that. She was no good at emotions. Throw a higher level calculus concept at her, ask her to carbon date a fossil or figure out the origin of some extraterrestrial life, and she'd do it without stopping to blink. But this whole concept of…dealing with feelings…it somehow bypassed her.

It wasn't that she hadn't tried. She had charged at it just as she would any other problem she had dealt with; she weighed the equation, plugged in the variables, and double-checked her solutions. But even when she triple-checked, and checked four or five times—just to be sure—the answers never fully solved the questions. And she was exhausted. She was tired of trying. Frustration had overcome perseverance and her left brain could not wrap itself around failure.

She let it all swim past, untouched, because reaching out was too much to try anymore. There had been a series of failed relationships lining the road of her past like broken houses, but now the path she walked was a secluded one, and she hadn't passed a house in many, many miles. It was easier instead to just stop walking, build a tent under the nearest cover, and hope that no storms disturbed her shaky peace.

It worked, mostly, but there were times—like now, as she treaded carefully down her own hallway in her own home in the safety of her own presence—where the solitude grew far beyond its proportion and intimidated her into submission. And so she gripped the wall with every last ounce of strength, determined not to have to pull the splinters from the hardwood out if she fell.

She rested on the couch and flipped on the TV, finding—as usual—nothing of interest. Reality television hadn't, as predicted, overstayed its welcome, and continued the full attack on programming. She was already living some sort of surreality and had no desire to watch preternaturally beautiful people live out a scripted one on the small screen. She turned it back off and laid her head against the pillow, soft and reliable. She had had it for as long as she could remember, and its off-white fabric (it _was_ white, once) was about as close to her childhood as she got, nowadays. When her mother hadn't been around to play headrest for her, she substituted this little pillow. When she found herself crying over the father she never knew—this crying business was so pathetic—she buried her eyes into the pillow and allowed it to bear the burden of her loneliness. They had been through a lot of history together, and tonight was another night she would need its companionship. She laid her head down, and let her eyes fall shut.

The phone rang. She lifted an arm, fully prepared to compose herself and answer just as she always did (a curt _"Yes?"_), but that feeling overwhelmed her again, and her hand fell limp against the expanse of couch stretching beside her. The answering machine did the job for her, and she preferred it that way. She was no good at confrontations, either.

Beep.

"Ami, I know you're probably sitting on the couch right now listening to this, you bitch," Makoto's voice broke through the barrier, "and I demand that you get up right now and grab the phone…" Pause. "Oh come on. I wanted to go out for drinks. I need it—and hon,' I _know_ you do." Pause. "Fine then. Suit yourself. I'm going to have a fucking blast, and you're going to fall asleep around nine like the boring old spinster you are." Pause. "All right. Well, if you change your mind, I'll be at that place near the sakura gardens. What's the name of it?...oh well, you know where I'm talking about. I'll be there all night, probably drunk out of my mind. Bye."

Beep.

The machine's end note hung stale in the air for a few milliseconds and died away into an already stale silence. Ami sometimes feared—in this oppressive silence—to even sigh too loudly. It might awaken a few ghosts napping throughout the apartment, or if nothing else, might awaken a few ghosts napping inside of her.

She felt badly for not answering Makoto, and she would probably feel badly in the morning about leaving Mako alone in a bar, as she was doing. Damn guilt complexes. She loved Makoto, but the girl knew how to get under your skin. She was too blunt; she asked questions that Ami had no desire to acknowledge within herself, let alone answer to someone else. Makoto had that way about her—she could say a few simple words, and any façade you had built up imploded, leaving behind only the scars it covered.

And Ami couldn't deal with that tonight. She was in one of those moods, and her vulnerability, she knew, was not something she needed to take out for a night on the town. Her vulnerability, after all, was never much of a partier.

The first shafts of moonlight wafted in through the curtains as the breeze parted them. But the rays were broken, and the moonlight seemed aging and forbidden. She supposed anything would seem that way now, but for some reason, it still sent a chill running through her. She wrapped a shawl around her thin frame and pulled the windows closed. She would rather not have to deal with that particular moonlight tonight.

Pressing her head against her trusty off-white pillow, she drifted off into a sleep filled with dreams of desolate roads and empty white houses.

* * *

In the bar surrounded by the sakura blossoms, Makoto too rested her head—but hers was pressed against the cold laminated wood of a table already acting as a resting place for numerous empty glasses. She didn't lie when she left the message on Ami's answering machine—the week had taken its toll, and she loaded her liver up with alcohol, knowing that even the morning hangover wouldn't taint the numbed evening at the bar. Despite this, with heavy eyelids and her head desperately swimming upstream, she prayed for a nice trough of water in which to submerge her wobbling face. And if that trough happened to have a couple bottles of diluted aspirin in it, then she'd be that much happier about the whole ordeal.

But no such thing appeared, and she went unnoticed by the bar employees and patrons—she was just another drunk in a metropolis filled with self-medicated fools. Yes, she was using booze as self-medication. And she had taken up smoking, too. But what did it matter? There was no one else to help her out, and helping herself out was too much sometimes. Keeping up this strong goddamn exterior—as cliché as it was—proved too heavy for her by the end of the day. And there was no Mamoru around, no Haruka, no Grandpa, and no computer to hold her up when her balance gave out. There were just her two feet, and by the time she got out of work each day, her feet weren't so sturdy anymore.

"Fuckin' a," she slurred, propping her face up on a weary wrist and glancing around to make sure no one had noticed the line of drool that trailed from the table to her mouth as she came back to semi-consciousness.

It was then that she saw that, indeed, someone _had_ noticed her lying in a pool of her own saliva. Sitting at the bar, looking directly at her was her boss, Akiyama. Fantastic.

She quickly wiped the drool from her lips and tried to smooth her hair as he walked over to her table.

"Makoto, how nice to see you," he said—genuinely—as he turned the chair backwards and straddled it. "You ok?"

Her eyes struggled to focus through the alcohol on his, but she eventually figured that the awkward silence would be even worse than her drunkard's googling eyes and answered him. "Uh…chyeeeaah. I'm greeeeeeeeat," she managed to spit out.

He nodded, a patronizing look (something she didn't notice, of course) coming over his usually cocky grin. "You want me to get you home?"

She couldn't bring herself to do anything but nod. Yeah, so this wasn't how she usually played things. She didn't rely on people. But maybe just this once—it had been so long since she had given up a little of the control she grasped so desperately to. It had been so long, and maybe this was just a blip on the radar. Yeah, that's probably what it was.

He let her sprawl out on his bed, laying a blanket out and setting a bottle of water on the table beside her. He didn't bother tucking her in, imagining that if she had to visit the bathroom later that evening, it would just be a roadblock, and he might end up with vomit-soaked sheets to clean the next day.

Was it appropriate that he brought her back to his house, rather than to her own—where he told her he was taking her? No, probably not. He was in a position of authority over her; this was sexual harassment, this was gender oppression, an abuse of power. Right? But it just didn't feel right to leave her alone tonight, didn't seem like she could hold up the weight of solitude. He was no prince, but he had traces of chivalry left over in him. No white steeds in this day and age, but he respected her and he didn't want her to be in pain. Which, laying in a puddle of drool with no one to wipe her face, he thought she just might have been in at that cheesy bar.

His attention was drawn back to her as something crashed down. The water, which was fortunately closed. He returned it to its former resting place and tugged her hand back so that she wouldn't repeat the offense.

"Youuuu're cute," Makoto laughed at him, her eyes closed and her finger pointed in some ambiguous direction, though he thought it may have been at the tall lamp in the corner. He hoped, of course, that she preferred him to the lamp, but she was in no state to confess her feelings and he wasn't about to take advantage of that.

"Makoto?" he asked hesitantly, receiving in return only a weary murmur of sound. "I'll be in the living room on the couch if you need anything. Bathroom's right through the door over there."

"Mmmm." She rolled over, and he knew he had lost her to the Sandman. He wouldn't want to be her in the morning…

"Good night, sweet Makoto," he whispered and with a small smile, he ran his palm across her cheek and went off to join the couch. He would take on the solitude for her, tonight.

* * *

Setsuna gazed out on the wasteland of darkness and fog from her post at the Time Gate. No, she was no longer bound to this lonely spot, but she had come today to break one of the taboos. Again. She had come to look to the immediate future, perhaps to change it, and she knew that if she were caught again, her own fate might shift in a very dangerous direction.

"Pluto Eternal Power," she whispered, "make up…"

And in a vacuum of crimson light, she felt the planetary energies heed her beckoning, filling and changing her; she felt the humanity she had worked so hard for die away in the stead of a nobler, superhuman entity's control. It was a degrading process, she thought quickly, this loss of the Self in order to surrender to the higher power that somehow managed to keep hidden away in a corner of her greater soul. But humanity got in the way of duty too often, and the Keeper of Time was not allowed that luxury. This mission was a duty of hers, to protect the Queen, but she knew still that something of her own desires was caught up in the same web. These thoughts died away promptly in the wake of the power surge that overcame her.

"Show me what I seek, Time," she commanded, and the vision she desired broke out before her.

An unfathomable blackness washed over her, leaving no trace of light in its warpath. She cried out a brief horror-stricken "oh god" before teetering off balance and collapsing against the cold ground. She closed the portal with her remaining strength, eager to rid herself of those images. She let her transformation lapse and tried to regain the breath she had held while she watched. This was not the future she remembered; this was not the path they had followed. Somewhere in their near past, somehow, the path had morphed and warped into something dark, hopeless. This couldn't be right. It just…couldn't be real.

No. Time did not lie. It simply…was. Setsuna knew better than to doubt it. It could be altered, but her duty now was not to do that. It was, instead, to guide them to realign their fates. But how she was going to do that…well, she would worry about that later.

* * *

"Mrs. Chiba," the doctor announced, "you're pregnant."

* * *


	5. Four: Beginnings

**Ascension**  
_Four: Beginnings_  
-mentalyoga-

_(A/N: Yes, this chapter has been a long time coming, and it's not a particularly action-packed one. I apologize for the laziness on my part, but between full-time school and part-time work, this story has been the least of my concerns. However, I've got the next two chapters actually planned out, so they should be much quicker in surfacing. Enjoy, and please review!)_

* * *

_"Mrs. Chiba, you're pregnant."_

She hadn't budged even a millimeter on the car ride home; her body seemed lifeless, cool to the touch as Mamoru carried her up the narrow stairs, through the front entrance, and down to the relenting couch cushions. A pink flush had blossomed on her cheeks, but her eyes gave no sign of the excitement belied in her complexion.

"Usako." He took her hand solemnly, "say something to me." The silence, the limp frame, the apathetic disposition—it certainly wasn't the reaction he would have expected. Had she talked or whined ceaselessly, had she suddenly started binge-eating ("I'm eating for two now!")…those he would have understood. But not this. "Talk to me, Usako. Come on. I know it's a bit unexpected, maybe even far earlier than we thought, but this isn't insurmountable." A pin dropped. Well, not really. But Mamoru imagined one dropping, and him hearing it. That sort of moment. He stood up to go.

She rolled over to him, prompted by the possibility that her eager words would be kept unspoken. "You don't understand, Mamo-chan." Her eyes looked past him, unfocused and greyed over, as though a vicious fog had crept in unnoticed.

"Don't understand what?" He clenched her hand more tightly—this wasn't the type of look he was accustomed to from his odango-adorned mate.

"There's something wrong." She removed her hand from his, slowly rubbing the not-yet-protruding skin of her stomach. Though the flesh there lay flat, the force inside pressed outward—an energy she was yet wary of. "This pregnancy—I can feel it, there's something _off_. I'm not sure what it is yet, but something's telling me to take caution." She turned away from him once again.

"Usako. Let's talk this through. What is it you mean…something's wrong? We knew this baby was coming sometime soon—we knew Chibi-Usa was on the way."

But was that the case? Chibi-Usa should—in actuality—still be nearly eight or nine hundred years off; not even a dim twinkle in his bright blue eye. Of course, it wasn't as though their actions, especially with Chibi-Usa's continued presence, and Setsuna's alterations, hadn't in many ways changed the path of the future. Yet, maybe Usagi was right; maybe Chibi-Usa had been delayed, and this…well, this was in fact _something else_. But the question remained—what?

Silence. They were back in the void.

"Usako?"

She lay still and without words. He stood and began his motion towards the bedroom once again, stopping at the threshold and looking back expectantly—assuming, of course, that she wouldn't be able to bind her thoughts. Yet she managed, maybe simply to spite him. She had snapped shut as a clam and he sighed before wandering back to their room in a haze all his own. Perhaps sleep would wear away at the worry that clouded his mind. He trusted her; he knew her doubts weren't without warrant. And her words had chilled him. Yes, he would try to sleep this off.

By herself now, Usagi gave in to the doubts and the fears, and they pressed down in unison on the growing life in her belly. A thimble now, said the doctor—just barely the size of your thumb. It made her think of those emergency clinics—the places where concerned nurses with tight hair and tight faces tried to keep women from terminating pregnancies by showing them thimble-sized models of tiny babies. As if a fetus looked like a fully-formed infant by the third week of development! The doctor was shocked she was experiencing any symptoms, noticing anything, so early. She supposed that they would rather her not understand until it was too late. But her doubts, would they lead her down that path? She could already picture herself laying out on those tissue-covered doctor beds (that were always too short and left your ankles hanging over the edge) while one of those nasty nurses feigned sympathy. She could end up crying out in one of those clinics.

At the thought, a bolt of pain struck her stomach—this concentrated lightning that had wracked her body several times now; she curled up in fear, hoping to make it go away. And it did, after she was well aware that whatever grew inside her had complete control. It seemed, indeed, that this_thing_ within wasn't planning on leaving—willfully or not—for some time to come.

* * *

Meanwhile, there was something else not quite right coming into plain view in their Tokyo. Something…human, it seemed, on their television screen. A woman. Slicked-back black hair and devilish eyes, brows furrowed sternly, and a pencil-skirt cut primly below thick kneecaps. The woman squinted at the cameras, pounding the podium before her with a contained fury.

_"We must build a new Tokyo!"_

Her whole demeanor reminded Michiru—who was watching the woman on the screen—of some cross schoolmarm, and the aqua-haired beauty half-expected her to pull out a thin metal ruler from the clutch at her side and use it to smack the knuckles of the paparazzi before her.

"_We're ruled by debauchery and disease! Ladies, when you're lying alone in bed, where are your husbands? Out lying elsewhere—with the whores our 'good' metropolis feeds like maggots. And your children, out on the streets in the midst of easily-obtained guns and just as easily-found cocaine, mari-hwa-nah! _(Michiru laughed at her pronunciation, here…)_ We let men lie with men and women lie with women as we each lie with our husbands and wives!"_

Ah, sighed Michiru, the moral high ground. And what was this little spectacle?

"Oh yeah," mumbled someone on the barstool beside her to their companion. "Elections are next week, eh? Looks like all the crazies are comin' outta the woodwork." He laughed, and slapped another few bucks down. The bartender slid a cup filled with frothy, amber-colored liquid across.

The woman on the screen continued.

"_The politicians making your decisions have taken advantage of the votes you granted them and run with their own personal agendas. What was once a political, economic, and cultural capital of the world continues to devolve as it strays further and further from the path we must now rejoin! So join me in reclaiming Tokyo!"_

"Hey," replied the friend, "She's not a bad speaker. And she's got a point."

Michiru slurped up another deep gulp from her own drink—a crisp Appletini—reasoning at that moment that if she didn't have something else to fill her mouth, the biting tongue inside might come out to teach the douchebag at the bar a little lesson.

"I mean, I went to my son's basketball practice last week, and what did I see sitting in the stands, all affectionate and acting like they was just like any of us? Coupla dykes, that's what."

Michiru felt her neck tense and her pulse accelerate. She finished the rest of the drink. No use starting a brawl with two inebriated, much larger fellows. Times like these, she realized she had it a bit easier than Haruka. See, she could 'pass,' so to speak—Michiru was the femme one, the lovely little lipstick lesbian—but Haruka wouldn't have such luck next to these bigots. With her rough hair, gruff demeanor and quite noticeable, plump breasts, she'd have stuck out like a very sore, 'dykey' thumb. Michiru gave the schoolmarm on the TV one last look before setting her tab down on the counter and leaving.

Saito Noriko. That was schoolmarm's name, and it wasn't one Michiru would soon forget.

* * *

"How'd it go?" came a hoarse voice—attached to an equally brusque woman. She brushed past a cluster-fuck of aides and secretaries and good-for-nothing, low-level coffee-getters and pencil-sharpeners. Yet, where was her goddamn coffee? Why wasn't someone shoving a nicely sharpened pencil into her thick palm? Amateurs.

"Very well, Ms. Saito," one of the lackeys spat out. "In fact, polls are in—you have a 5 lead on your major opponent!"

"We've started taking some preliminary interviews with the citizens of Tokyo—there's quite a market out there for rigid morality!" another cackled.

"One woman said she'd be kicking her wandering husband out of the house and using the alimony payments to contribute to your campaign!"

"But let's not forget, these successes have to be built upon," a short, nerdy looking aide mentioned. Was his name Umino? He was intelligent, surely, but his bottle-neck glasses and googly eyes made her blood rise. "Election day is only a little over three weeks aw—"

"That's all," she cut him off tersely. He whimpered a bit like a dejected puppy, but that in itself only made Saito want to kick him all the more. She hated kiss-asses, and she absolutely _despised_ puppies. "Leave me," she ordered, loud and firm enough for everyone to hear and obey. She stepped into her office and slammed the door as angrily as she could. Sitting down at her meticulously organized desk, she kicked the painful stilettos off, propped her stocking-covered heels up on the desk, and lit a thick, unfiltered cigarette. Why sugar-coat death? Her philosophy was to commit to everything she did and to always, always ensure her own interests were fulfilled. This new job, however, required a few sacrifices on that front.

She pulled the cigarette to her thin, pursed lips. Inhale. Hold it in 'til the burning hits your esophagus. Exhale. The smoke billowed out in front of her eyes, taking shape in images and omens. Or at least she liked to imagine that it did something like that.

So what was the plan now, to continue the little momentum she had gained today? Would she be expected to lovingly dole out kissed for malformed babies? Hold morally rigid public sermons? Appeal to the commonfolk by promising tax cuts for the poor, while formulating plans to get the homeless off the streets and into secure positions? Oh, but she had plans for all these things in mind, though perhaps not using quite the same methodology as the citizens might desire—it was just a matter of getting into the office and getting approval from the Top.

You see, right now she was waiting for The Man. He never kept her waiting long, of course. She shivered a bit and tugged her shawl tighter around her stout frame. The room had lost heat in a swift motion—suddenly she could see her breath billowing out before her; just as quickly as she noticed that, the moisture from her exhalation had frozen and fallen to the floor in a mass of icy drops. She took a thick drag of her cigarette again and let out another large puff of smoke, but in this one, a form did take shape in the swirling mass. Here He was. No, he never kept her waiting long.

"Saito, we've got a little problem." An androgynous voice—no decided gender, no inflection, no emotion. The voice coming from this seemingly human mass wasn't human at all.

Saito was not a weak woman; she had come very near to death a handful of times (that time she fell on the Subway tracks was no walk-in-the-park!), had acted in horrifying ways, had lived fifty long, trying years. She was a self-proclaimed tough broad; a real bitch…but The Man had her trembling in her stockings. No matter how many times The Man appeared to her, it never got any easier—the fear never subsided, the voice never failed to wreak havoc in whatever heart she couched in her cave of a chest.

"And what would that be, sir?" she inquired calmly. Somehow she knew that The Man could smell the fear on her, like an animal; she couldn't hide what was inside from him. Everything was outside in the eyes of The Man. And the more she attempted to calm herself, the more fearful she became—knowing The Man would sense her pathetic attempts to conceal it, to rectify it in his very face.

"It's nothing to do with you, Saito," came the same droning monotone—the dead voice that somehow managed to carry with it immense power. "I presume you're aware of the Sailor Senshi, yes?"

"Sir," she affirmed.

"And do you know what happened last week, Saito?" A vague red glow in the swirling mass; the room grew colder. She did not need vocal inflection to feel The Man's anger rise.

"The Senshi defeated our youma in their attack of the mall, Sir." She had removed her heels from the desktop and sat with legs and arms crossed, cowering behind the desk. Her teeth had begun to chatter; goosebumps showered her thick skin.

"Indeed," The Man replied as the flames became brighter, "See, I wasn't even fully aware that the Senshi were still active—after the defeat of Galaxia, I had been under the impression that they were rendered powerless. And yet, the very first attack, and they're back in the running—and claim victory!"

"Sir, there were injuries to the Senshi, howev—"

"Silence." Her body was paralyzed by now; she was unsure if this was due to the cold or due to…His control…in any case, she would be silent now, whether she willed it or no. "One. The Senshi must be eliminated. Two. The youma must be given more power, which will—as you know—leave me weak for some time. And finally, your campaign must succeed; part of this success will be your claim to eliminate the youma plaguing the city, once we have them at that level."

The room had thawed, and though her teeth continued to knock painfully together, her voice had returned. "Sir," she challenged warily, "would it not be better to…keep the Senshi around, at least for the time being?"

The light blazed; Saito shielded her eyes with a fleshy hand. Yet even stranger, it died away as quickly as it had come in.

"Perhaps you're onto something there Saito." She thought she heard a chuckle before The Man continued. "Very well, then. Strengthen the youma and win the campaign. The senshi will not be eliminated; they will be tested. Take liberties with that order, Saito, but do not fail."

With that, The Man was gone; the only traces of his presence were the papers strewn across the floor and the hairs that still stood on end. Failure was, of course, not even an option here. Saito knew quite well coming into her position that this was no white-collar, CEO type of career. There was no prison to go to if she embezzled funds; no unemployment agency to lean on if success evaded her. There was only the cold, lightless void that waited beneath.

* * *

"Higher!" Jupiter shouted out encouragingly to her companion. She stood a striking three inches taller than her already Amazoness-stature in the senshi boots; she leaned clumsily against the chain-link fence behind her, attempting to seem casually smaller. She had forgotten those little things about her fuku; the itchy texture of the collar around her swan-neck, the embarrassing length of the skirt and the way the slightest breeze could lift open that scant cover off the family jewel's, and of course, the insufferable height added by already painful heeled-boots.

She drew her attention back to Mercury's continuing failed attempts to leap to the top of the building before her.

"Damnit, Jupiter, I'm not getting any better at this—no matter how loudly you shriek at me!" She toppled to the ground in a heap of navy blues and periwinkles. "Besides, I don't feel any less prepared for an attack than I did when we were angst-filled high schoolers."

"I think," Jupiter reproved, "that the youma at the mall would beg to differ."

Her friend chuckled, rubbing absently at her sore ribs. "Touché."

"We've got to get back in the game, darling'" Jupiter went on, "because I have a nasty feeling about this."

Mercury raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"I consulted the Magic 8 Ball," Jupiter smirked, running a hand through her bangs bashfully, "and it told me to check back at a later time."

Mercury nodded in mock approval, "I'd say that's as accurate or better than Rei's damn tea leaves."

"Speak of the fiery little devil, where the hell is she? Minako's supposed to be here, too!" She scanned the parking lot briefly before shrugging her shoulders in defeat. "Course, Minako's more and more unreliable, and Rei's been acting funny lately."

"Funnier than usual, you mean?" Mercury retorted. Her eyes glazed over as she stared off into something only she could see. "None of us are much the same, are we? I think I finally understand all those things my mother used to tell me about getting older."

"Hey!" Jupiter punched her arm, "We've got some life in us yet! Twenty-three is the new…thirteen?"

"Erm…yeah…"

"Let's, uh, get back to work, huh?" Jupiter offered before taking off running at the building before her. "Now watch me!" she cried behind her, making a gallant leap towards the building…before smacking right into it. She fell back down to the ground, strangely contorting her body before landing sloppily on her firm two feet. "I'm good!" she called.

"So," said the brain, "is _that_ how it's done?"

"I think," said a husky, prematurely aged voice, "that we might need to try something else now."

"And where have you been, Mars?" Jupiter said, only a bit of anger in her even tone. "We've been waiting around for you and Venus for at least half-an-hour." She screwed her face up in a sneer, sticking her tongue out as far as it could stretch.

Mars laughed and waved her away. "So what's this little shindig all about?" She produced a tiny flame in the palm of her hand, tossing it at a cardboard box lying sadly on the ground a few yards away. It took the fire just a moment before it extinguished; only the slow glow of embers remained as they watched it burn away.

"Been seven years, Mars," Jupiter noted astutely. "Think we still got_it_? And do wanna take that risk?"

Mars scoffed. "What is _it_?" She tossed another flame and a half-washed away newspaper erupted in ash and smoke. "Did we have this _it_ when we were forced to bear the weight of the world? Or is _it_ something acquired?"

Mercury spoke up, suddenly shy. "I think Jupiter has a point, though. Who knows what seven years can do to your body, your agility, your reaction speeds? When next we're hit, do you want to think that maybe with another week of refresher courses you could have saved a life?"

Mars looked down to the embers still whiling away their short life on the gravel. "Well, let's get started then."

Jupiter held a hand over her eyes and scanned the area once more. "Where did you say Venus was?"

* * *

"Where you think you're going, girl?"

The thick fingers clenching her arm tightened. She could hear his breath, uneven and catching on the fury boiling beneath. Her own heart matched his and then some, but she would not let him find fear in her eyes. He was the enemy, now, and she never feared her enemies.

"Out," came an even voice from her throat; disembodied, it seemed, someone else's voice. Not hers.

"Did you get permission?"

"No."

His grip was choking her arm now; she could feel the skin tingling with the lack of oxygen and blood. "'No' what?"

"No sir," she muttered almost silently. The ultimate humiliation, this.

"You won't be going anywhere, baby," he laughed, his grip finally loosening enough to allow feeling back into her palm and her tingling fingertips. "I got some work for you to do," he licked his lips and patted the crotch of his jeans.

Her mind raced for an excuse. "You don't—don't understand, hon," she said delicately, her eyes flicking from his veiny arm to his narrowing eyes. "This is…really important. I'll take care of you when I get back."

"No," he said, grabbing her wrist once again. "It's _you_ who don't understand, babe. You. Aren't. Going. Anywhere." He laughed again, now in her face…his breath heavy with hard liquor and stale smoke.

Minako kept herself from screaming back a haughty retort, but she didn't hide the flash of lightning in her expression. Just as quickly as she realized it, the back of his hand had collided with her cheek. The pain was minimal, but the blunt force of it send her careening towards the haphazardly placed dresser. She felt her temple explode and all went black.

* * *

Hotaru had fallen ill, and her three mommies didn't know quite how to make it better. Haruka sucked her tongue disapprovingly when Michiru attempted a little old fashioned energy healing. Setsuna ran tests in the home lab she had built from the ground up; nothing was apparent in the results, but Hotaru's quickly waning figure and paler-than-usual complexion gave no reflection of that scientific 'fact.'

The still child-like girl had been in and out of consciousness three days by that point, murmuring in some tongue that didn't sound altogether human and sweating out every last drop they forced between her lips. Her mommies had changed the sheets twice by noon.

"You don't think whatever's been affecting Usagi could be doing this?" said Haruka, feigning nonchalance but nervously biting at her cuticles every few words. She took a quick glance at her handiwork; there were drops of blood on several fingertips.

Setsuna picked up the slack quickly, her crimson eyes flashing. "No. Usagi knows already what afflicts her, as shall we whenever she decides to inform us." She dabbed a damp cloth over Hotaru's glistening forehead. "This is something very different, though perhaps in the greater scheme, they are somehow related."

"How do you know that?" Michiru demanded. She had been sitting quietly on the sidelines for a few minutes; she was a clever woman, but she chose her words with care. These words were rash, but Setsuna's usual secrecy seemed unwarranted in a situation where Hotaru's health was at risk. She looked over to the girl, still tossing and mumbling foreboding foreign words beneath her quick breath.

"The details remain hidden; not everything has been revealed, and I fear that the possibility of it is unlikely. My vision is clouded; Rei's as well, I presume." She smirked. "I do believe we're in for a…how do you say it…doozy?"

* * *

"All right, girls" said Jupiter, a thinly concealed grin on her face. "I think that should do it for the day. Good work!" She raised a mocking salute.

"Ice cream?" Mercury offered.

"Only if it's got a shot or two of liquor in it," Jupiter answered.

"I think I can deal with that," Rei smirked.

And just as the three were about to let their transformations lapse, a crash sounded from the other side of the lot. A mushroom cloud of smoke billowed out, choking them as it dissipated in the afternoon sunlight.

"What is that?" Mercury cried out, shielding her eyes and taking a defensive stance. Mars ran up beside her with Jupiter in tow, and the three waited for their enemy.

The ground beneath them rumbled and began to crack—the line shooting towards them as the earth seemed to split. Mercury was caught off guard and nearly slipped between, catching herself on the side with precarious, shaking hands. Mars quickly tugged her back up to the steadying surface.

And the dust parted.

"Come on, girls," Jupiter rallied them. "It's time to show 'em what we learned."

* * *

**Next up in**_**Ascension**_ The senshi's first test, a change of heart, and a date with destiny. 


	6. Five: Evolution

**Ascension**  
_Five: Evolution_  
-mentalyoga-

* * *

Mars, Mercury, and Jupiter stood in a haphazardly triangular formation against the horizon. Facing them was something not human, not robot, but not altogether monstrous, either. One thing was for certain: the ground that had split beneath them did not do so because their opponent was a little ol' thing—in fact, the girls were positively dwarfed by the creature. It may as well have been one of the buildings they had tried to rappel up only minutes before. Jupiter let her mouth hang agape for only a moment before she took charge once again.

"Here we go, girls. Mercury: visor. You know what to do. Mars and I will spread out on either side to trap it between the three of us. We'll be moving fast, but it should give you enough time to do a basic reading while it's distracted."

Mercury snuck a sideways glance at Jupiter in the all-too-brief moment of silence; this was the clumsy, awkward girl who couldn't get up the nerves to talk some silly guy she fawned over and who—though she always managed to put up a brave front—still gave an involuntary jump anytime an airplane soared overhead. The girl who had broken down in tears when Mizuno Kaya showed her a bit of affection—who confessed to Ami that she hadn't remembered what it was like to see in Kaya's eyes a mother's love reflected back at her. And now here she was taking the lead, making a plan, and kicking ass. Seven years had changed them all, but Mercury was…well…proud of her longtime friend. Jupiter was—as cliché and naïve as it sounded—inspiring, really.

And she had to be—with Venus still missing-in-action, Jupiter was second in command. Though Mars had always held the technical position, her fiery temper was too rash to act as commander. Jupiter, though not without her yearning for the rough and tumble lifestyle, was simply better able to control herself on the battlefield. Mars had stepped down, and now, Jupiter had stepped up.

A rumble from the youma's direction kicked the plan back into high gear. There was no more time for small talk. Jupiter and Mars made haste, sprinting off from Mercury's position like the wings of a 'V'—leaving Mercury at the tip of the formation and the youma in the center of it all.

Mercury touched a large button on her earpiece, sending the visor rapidly into action; before her eyes, there was only the outline of what was occurring around her. But mathematical equations and scientific data grew more and more opaque as her visor scanned the creature ahead.

"Hey, you!" Jupiter taunted. "Over here, doofus!" She jumped up and down, flailing her arms wildly and sticking her tongue out at it. On cue, the monster turned in her direction; slowly, a seemingly delayed reaction. Jupiter grinned, realizing that the enemy's intelligence was surely no match for three senshi quite well versed in battle tactics. After another long moment, the creature raised a wide arm-like appendage and pointed it in Jupiter's direction. A sphere of yellowish energy shot at her, nearly as slow as its master. She dodged the blow easily in a tuck-and-roll maneuver before shooting a quick "Supreme Thunder" in return. It hit home, but didn't seem to make much of a mark on the towering beast.

"Burning Mandala!" shouted Mars, releasing a pair of boomerang-shaped flames and stepping back to watch them circle the creature and zero in. Again, though the monster seemed slightly fazed, it was pushed back more in surprise than in pain.

"Mercury! Update us!" Jupiter cried above the din of the monster's footsteps. It was approaching the brunette in its still-crawling pace; this did not mean she wasn't growing a bit nervous. She needed another moment, after all, to gather enough energy for another attack.

Mercury pressed the button once again, and the visor was pulled back to whatever nebulous space it had come from. Mars didn't much like the look in her companion's eye. "I got nothing on it." She began to draw energy into her palm—her trusty science had failed her, and now she would call on her magic.

"Nothing?!" Jupiter shouted, blasting another bolt at the monster—still slowly nearing her.

"Basic information," Mercury called back, barely paying Jupiter any mind as she collected her power, "Height, weight, etc. Nothing useful." Her eyes were closed now, and she prepared to send forth the attack.

Here's what we'll do," Mercury continued. The monster glanced at the smaller woman briefly, only a bit interested, before turning back to his Amazon queen. "I'm going to raise a mist—Jupiter, just follow my lead."

The ice senshi focused once again on the planetary energies consuming her and, just as she sensed they had reached their peak, set everything free. A thick fog swarmed the creature, partially concealing it from their vision—but Mercury had not finished. With a careful flick of her wrist, the mists took on a conscious mission; swirling, the strange pseudo-liquid converged on the creature, adopting its shape and closing only on the area in which it stood. The monster had been caught in her web, and Jupiter knew just what Mercury intended—it was the years that had brought them to this point, where they could understand one another in such a way. The bright sky darkened; a black cloud came literally from thin air to cover the sky above the creature. This thundering above was no accident. A thin metallic rod emerged from the tiara bracing Jupiter's forehead, and tiny bolts of electricity jumped around ominously.

Three quick strips of lightning descended from the black sky—the monster, realizing its own folly, attempted to move out of the way, but Mars shot an even faster burst of fire to push it directly into the path of the electric attack. The lightning fed on the moisture in the air around the creature, and it convulsed for a moment before trembling and falling to the ground. A puff of smoke erupted from the mass.

"Yes!" Jupiter erupted, throwing a victorious fist into the air. "That was much easier than I thought!"

* * *

Blissfully unaware, however, the three senshi were being monitored by yet another intruder. A short, wiry boy of roughly their age looked on in consternation.

"That _was_ too easy," her muttered to himself, adjusting the fat-lenses of his glasses and pushing them up the bridge of his nose. Twenty-three years old, Umino had never expected to be involved in mass conspiracy, but here he was spying on the sailor senshi! The three women seemed oddly familiar, though he couldn't quite place them in the clouds of his memory. It was as though, looking at them, he couldn't focus his vision on their finer features. The moment he looked away, the image he had formed in his mind was blurred or entirely forgotten.

His mission, on the other hand, was very clear now. Saito had instructed him in what he was to do were there to be an emergency, not altogether unlike this one. He held a small velvet pouch in his fist, and with fumbling hands, he tugged at the drawstrings tying it together; he knew the dust he was ordered to use was concealed within. Grabbing a handful, he felt a shiver run through the fingertips…up through the bones, beneath his flesh, and into his palm, where the dust seemed positively skittish with energy.

"Here you go" he whispered, tossing it in the creature's direction. He had been told what to do in the situation; he had not been informed, though, of what his actions would set in motion. With a life of its own, now, the dust did not flutter to the ground—instead, it took to the sky and traveled faster than he could follow, settling finally on the limp, massive monster lying just beyond the crack in the earth it had pounded out. The three senshi stood, still unwitting of what would soon commence, around the body—Mercury running more tests, Jupiter chuckling at their simple victory, and Mars pushing at the creature with a tremulous pointed red heel.

But with a pop that seemed to sound within their heads, the senshi saw the sparkle of the dust settling on their felled foe; with another loud crack and a rustle, the monster rose above them with shocking speed. In another quick motion, Mars had been tossed like a ragdoll against the wall of a neighboring building. Mercury and Jupiter jumped quickly beyond reach, and Mercury noted that Mars was rising—only a bit shaken, but with a determined look in her vicious violet irises. Neither noticed the traitorous pipsqueak fleeing the scene behind them.

"Okay, again!" Mercury shouted, as she brought down the mists once more.

"Go!" shouted Jupiter, another crack splitting the air as lightning struck its target—not once, not thrice, but four times. By the time the air cleared, Mercury was down and the creature was careening towards Jupiter. She leaped to the top of the lowest building with difficulty, and was out of reach, for the time being.

Its attention swerved to face the senshi of fire.

"Goddamnit," she swore, "Not again." For she had raced in the meantime between the two closest buildings—but found herself, as in the fiasco at the mall, gazing at a dead end. The buildings (naturally, just her luck) were not two, but were conjoined, and she had nothing but brick before her.

Jupiter peeked over the edge and down at Mars. "I'm gonna call for backup—hang in there, babe."

"Couldn't you have warned me that I was running to my doom?!" Mars shouted back and shot a small flame towards the other girl.

"I didn't know until it was too—" CRASH. The monster had pummeled the side of the building, and Jupiter saw the ground swiftly moving closer and closer. She caught a railing just before her face and the cement made acquaintance, but the railing cut through her gloves and into the tender flesh of her palms. "Shit!" she cried in pain. But there was no time to pay the pain any mind. The monster was bashing in the sides of the buildings, creating its own pathway to Mars, who continued to back slowly into the bricks behind her.

Funny, how she hadn't noticed the sinewy thickness of its tree-trunk arms until they were being used to bring her closer and closer to a very dark end.

Jupiter conjured her commlink. "Girls, we need some help here!" Static was the only answer—and it was not something that Jupiter had ever experienced, in all her years of using the damned contraption. "Again! This is Jupiter; Mercury is down, and Mars and I are about to join her! Come in! Anyone?" Static and grey, where there should have been the reassuring answers of six other soldiers. She tossed it aside and ran to Mercury's fallen form.

"Stay with us, Ami, we're gonna bring this thing down, whatever it takes," she whispered comfortingly. Though the girl couldn't respond, Jupiter took small victory in the fact that she stirred slightly at the touch of a friend.

Tucking the pale girl behind a stack of discarded boxes, she turned back to find the enemy only yards away from Mars, who was by now making futile attempts to leap up the buildings.

"Oak Evolution!" she screamed desperately, and the whirlwind of blossoms tore at the creature's back—leaving small imprints, but nothing deep enough to bring it back around. She sprinted towards it, leaping into a flying kick at its head. She simply bounced off and tumbled to all fours—no damage done, at least not to the one meant to take it.

But there was something different in its reaction this time; it had turned around, taken notice. And now it was coming for her.

* * *

"Morning, darling!" Usagi grinned, setting a tray of steaming breakfast over Mamoru's still sleepy frame. As his vision cleared, he saw her—a vision in and of herself; golden tresses tumbling down to the floor, her only-a-little-plump figure positively aglow beneath her white slip. He sat up as she gingerly handed him a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

He paused before sipping. "If this isn't a completely schizophrenic turnaround, I don't know what is…" he said resolutely, slurping the coffee up before his lips were quite prepared for the burn of it. A few stray drops dribbled down his chin to his bare chest.

His comment hadn't even nicked her radiant demeanor. "It's nothing, Mamo-chan," she smiled, "just that…I felt so completely alive when I woke up this morning! I don't know what was going on the past few days, but it's all better now!" Her blue eyes twinkled brighter than the shining morning sky beyond the curtains, but something still felt slightly amiss—at least to Mamoru.

"And you're sure whatever the problem was…whatever was wrong, I mean," he said, choosing his words cautiously, "is gone for good?"

"Oh yes," she returned without a second's pause. "I'm not sure why, but I can feel it here—" she pressed a palm to her heart. "It must have been bad morning sickness or something—you know, that's most prominent in the first twelve weeks of pregnancy," remarked the glowing girl astutely.

Mamoru couldn't hide his quizzical expression. "And how'd you figure that one out?"

"Couldn't sleep last night," she said quietly, and he noticed the puffy skin beneath her eyes, "So I did a bit of research on my own. There's so much information on the internet these days!"

He couldn't say he was sure where this abrupt change had come from— not the sudden physical wellness and certainly not the initiative on her part to look into her budding role as an expectant mother—but he didn't want to question it, either. While he couldn't shake _that_ feeling and while he still found this all a bit strange, it didn't seem like a bad change…

He took a bite of the French toast in front of him, and hid his grimace. After all these years, the girl still couldn't cook her way out of a wet paper bag. But he loved her. "Mmmm" he lied through clenched teeth. But with a quick flash of teeth and a squint of her eyes as her smile widened, all was forgotten.

* * *

Hotaru hadn't moved in days—pulse slowed and breath even slower, there wasn't a stir from her bed, except for Michiru's constant changing of the sheets. The girl wasn't even soaking them with sweat any longer; it was habit now, just Michiru keeping her hands busy. That was the hardest thing, she thought to herself, scrubbing at the pristine cloth…knowing that her daughter was suffering and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. The murmurings had ended precisely thirty-three hours ago; Michiru was simply biding time, now.

In the meantime, though, she had taken up painting again—not entirely of her free will. It seemed almost involuntary now. The picking up of the blank canvas, strapping it to a frame with trembling hands; then, the mixing of the oils (blacks, blues, and browns, mostly), the unconscious brushstrokes as she fell into the wayward paths of her mind.

Haruka had questioned the images as if it were her business to be asking the questions, but Michiru shrugged them off—it wasn't that she was thinking of it as the paintings came. It seemed naïve to claim possession of the things pouring forth from her; she felt like something of a medium at this point, a conduit for whatever force had conjured up the colors and scenes. But it was that that seemed the most unsettling, because she wasn't at all certain why she was painting the Apocalypse over and over again.

* * *

Jupiter had dodged the blow just as it crashed against the ground. She didn't stop to pay too much attention to the deep imprint in the shape of the massive arm the creature swung at her; two seconds slower, and her brains would have been spilled all over the insides of that imprint. She shivered a bit but ran on; she had bought some time, she noted, looking back at the creature struggling to get its other arm from the pavement beside the imprint.

A pair of ravens flew overhead—back in the direction of the fire senshi. Coincidence?

"Flaming Sniper!" she heard, again from behind her, and a howl from the creature prompted Jupiter to turn back and look hopefully at the results of the attack.

The arrow had hit the creature square in the chest, all right, but it had only slowed it—the thing raged on. It was Mars' turn to dodge a blow, but she hadn't expected what would happen next any more than Jupiter did in seeing it. The creature had swung its arm as a decoy, and in the direction Mars fled, it shot out a vicious ball of yellow energy that Mars had no time to avoid. Just as the arrow had hit the monster where its heart might lay, the energy—whatever it was, exactly—took Mars in hers. She, like Mercury before her, fell to the ground motionless.

"No!" Jupiter felt herself shrieking, though the voice erupting from her throat seemed to come from some other girl in some other place, some other situation. The howl wouldn't stop, though, in spite of the disembodied sense she harbored. A burning in the center of her forehead began as but a pinch, but soon it was not only beneath the skin but climbing outside—the burn had become a light shooting out from just above her brows. She felt (again, as if it were someone else's head, someone else's pain) the tiara that usually wrapped about her crown melt into nothingness, and the burn took shape. Though she could not see it, the light had contained itself—no longer just a shapeless glow, it burst through her skin in the shape of her planetary symbol. The sign of Jupiter was etched on her forehead as defined as the bridge of her nose or the thick curve of her lips below. The pain subsided and the light was pulled back inside; but looking down, she realized she was at least three yards above the ground.

She put an arm behind her subconsciously, checking for wings. Had she died? Was she some sort of mutant angel in the afterlife? No wings, she noticed, running her fingertips against her shoulder blades and spine. This didn't mean she was dead, of course, but the raging of the creature below her brought her back to reality. She was not dead at all; in fact, she was bursting with power—it flew through her veins and out through her tingling toes, her burning eyes. She had, it seemed…evolved.

She didn't seem, though, to control what came next—but perhaps in time she would. The burning returned, but it was not confined to her forehead and there was no pain…just a tingling, a strange lightheadedness, and comforting warmth. Force gathered in her palms, and as she awaited whatever violent awakening that was coming, she took the chance to look down at her fuku.

No longer a two-piece, this fuku began at her shoulders and fell just below her panty-line; the V-cut bared all until her belly button, and her breasts were covered in fabric that took the shape at their tips to look like two large leaves—a belt just below her breasts tugged everything tightly together in an empire waistline. The leaf-esque top grew downward to shape the skirts.

And the power in her palms grew.

The skirt was as short as ever, but even shorter layers fell over the bottom one—a thin, soft mesh that bled olives and cedar greens that spilled beyond the shorter skirts above. Untainted white and rose pink melted as one in the upmost layer, and the ones between were alternating shades of white, rose, and green.

And the power grew.

Her boots, too, fit tightly until the ankle, and more leaf-shaped leather ascended, shoot-like, from there. Pink ribbons wound their way up her calves to the bottoms of her knees, where tiny buds sprouted outward. Her gloves were much the same; short, simple, and organic. Glancing down at herself—between the maternity waistline, the olives, mahoganies and roses, and flowing folds of it all, she felt like a genuine Earth Mother. A sexy one, but there was still something cloyingly earthy and maternal there that bugged her. How was she supposed to battle youma when she felt like a cutout from a New Age calendar?

The power had come full circle and was ready to be unleashed. She sensed this, but felt rather powerless at its mercy, nothing but a marionette for the powers beyond her. Jupiter had claimed her body as its own, and she was but the vehicle for its outpouring.

"Jovian Uprooting!"Well now, that sounded lame, she thought as she released the energy from her shaking hands.

But lame as it sounded, she wasn't prepared for quite the arboreal show that ensued. From the ground shot vines that slithered tightly around the creatures legs, arms and torso before it had the chance to throw itself out of the floral path—and so it was trapped entirely, for the more the creature struggled, the more tightly the vines wrapped about it. It wasn't simply tightening in on the monster; it seemed to be siphoning the life right out of it. As the vines and flowers grew in startling leaps and bounds, the monster struggled less and less. A thin, nearly translucent glow seemed to seep from the youma and into the Jovian flora confining it.

Was her attack draining its lifeforce?

It was a trivial inquiry; the youma had fallen, and this time for good. With yet another popping sound, the creature had vanished, leaving only a murky-colored dust in its place. The funny thing was that one small puff of dust (more gold in color than the rest) had risen above the rest of the cloud, as if with purpose, and began blowing westward. Jupiter paid it no mind, grateful only to be standing—and not, as her fallen foe could attest, dust recoiling back to the earth. But her companions!

She surveyed the situation with panic. Mercury and Mars both lay lifeless on opposite ends of the abandoned lot. She would only be able to handle one at a time—she tried the commlink once more.

"Anyone? Come in, please," she pleaded. The static had thankfully receded. "This is Jupiter. Two senshi down. I repeat," her voice cracked, "Mars and Mercury are down. Youma killed, but I need backup."

Crackle. Crackle. "We're on the way, darlin.' Hate to be late to the party," Haruka's overconfident voice finally came through, and Jupiter found herself releasing what seemed the most painful breath she had ever taken.

"Thank Zeus," she muttered. "Hurry, Haruka."

She had come to Ami's side reluctantly; it couldn't have been more inopportune that their limp bodies were at least thirty yards from one another. She was scared to move either of them in case of more serious injury. But Ami was stirring, she noticed with greater relief than she expected. They had been through quite a bit in their years, but Jupiter always had faith that things would work themselves out. Maybe she had lost that youthful optimism.

"Can you speak, Mercury?" she asked quietly, as if even her voice might send her friend back into unconsciousness.

A cough and furrowed brows, angry lungs. "Yeah, guess so," she murmured.

"Good," Jupiter replied. "I need to check on Mars' condition; wait here—Haruka and Michiru are on the way, and we'll be back to the Temple soon enough. Got it?" A nod, and Jupiter had set off in the other direction.

But Mars' body—lying in this exact position only thirty seconds before—was gone. No, no. Nonononono. Where her body had been was but an imprint in the dirt of the pavement.

"Mars!" she shrieked. Had some other monster come and taken her while she was down—at the one moment Jupiter had been preoccupied? How would she ever forgive herself? "MARS!" This couldn't be happening; not after victory, not after Jupiter had finally felt that surge of power churning inside, after she thought nothing could ever defeat them again. "MARRRRRSSSSSSSSSSS!!!"

There was a heaving between the buildings, and then a gruff voice called, "Goddamnit, shut your yapping, Jupi-chan." Mars' amethyst eyes peeked around the corner of the broken brick walls. "Can't you let a girl vomit in peace?"

And something broke inside Jupiter at that moment; the laughter burst free, and she was suddenly on the ground, hugging her knees and straddling somewhere between laughing and crying with joy. Her embarrassment was covered over by her pure elation at knowing they had all made it through. Mercury was sitting up by then, looking curiously over at her strangely out-of-control commander.

"Would you like to be alone with yourself, Captain?" she smirked.

"No," Jupiter managed through the heaving guffaws, "I think I'd rather have you two by my side."

A step from behind.

"Care to have two more join you?" another hoarse voice mumbled. Jupiter turned to find Haruka and Michiru—or more appropriately, Uranus and Neptune—standing side by side, ready for the worst, but looking at least somewhat relieved to find them all more or less in one piece.

"Please," Jupiter laughed, motioning to the ground beside her, "there are plenty of seats left!"

"Pass." Haruka grabbed her outstretched hand, and tugged. "Let's get you three back to the Hikawa Shrine and figure a few things out." After pulling Jupiter up, she knelt and took Mercury full into her tough grip—the blue-haired woman shrugged as she was carried mercilessly towards the gate before them.

Mars leaned on Jupiter for support as they recounted the episode among themselves. Only Neptune was silent and still, her turquoise hair flowing like liquid sapphires in the breeze. Her eyes had glazed over and her hands hung dead by her sides. No one was paying her any mind, but she had come to see that it was all beside the point now anyhow. No matter how hard she had fought this, fate had still managed to take them hostage in its vicious grasp. It would still destroy their lives soon enough—to think, she had left Hotaru home alone while she ran out to 'save' three women already quite fine on their own! Sure, Setsuna knew to hurry home, but what if something had happened to Hotaru. It was almost more than she could bear.

"Neptune," Haruka teased, "You waiting on someone back there?"

"Oh!" Neptune giggled, though it was but a thin veil, "I'm coming. I just got a bit lightheaded for a moment." But see, she wasn't lightheaded at all. The tsunamis were bubbling inside her now; fury was taking over hopelessness, as she raged against this fucked up fate. But what had she to do, but accept it? She wasn't aware of any alternative, but the waves continued to tumble within, and soon perhaps, they would break shore and scatter the surfaces. A half-smile caressed Neptune's full lips, but it never quite managed to foam across her eyes.

* * *

_Next up in_ **Ascension**: The plot thickens as the senshi discover more about their new threat…then, a narrow escape, a long-awaited date, and a change of tide for one of the Outer Senshi. Sorry for the long delay, yet again, in the coming of this chapter. I'd like to promise not so long until the next one, but we'll see…! 


	7. Six: Convergences

**Ascension**

_Six: Convergences_

-mentalyoga-

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews that have kept me motivated to keep coming back to this story. It's summer now, and I've got some big plans for forthcoming chapters. Already working on the next chapter, in fact! Keep the reviews coming, if you please. Also, (I posted this in my profile, as well) I'm interested in having a beta reader for this story and others in the works. And I would love to offer up my services as a beta reader, too, if anyone is interested. Enjoy the story!

* * *

"Citizens of Tokyo! The time has come to stand up in the face of hardship, to defend all that you believe in!"

Cheers resounded. It was an acceptance speech in the dead center of Tokyo, mid-day, with the sun glinting viciously off the reflective panes of skyrisers. Saito Noriko, the new Chairwoman of the New Tokyo Council, balanced precariously on a haphazardly-built wooden platform. Her greasy locks were tugged tight against her head, pulling already hard eyebrows into pinpoints that left her looking as though a fetid stench permanently invaded her nostrils. Heels clunked on the thin boards beneath her (she had never really learned how to walk in heels), and chunky sausage arms flailed around under the cover of thick gray polyester sleeves.

Minako snaked carefully through the crowd, eager to see the frog's pocked face closer up.

This was one of her first outings since the end of her 'relationship.' Tatsuo had finally pushed her to her limit; that he humiliated her, beat her, was enough. But to try and—she didn't want to relive it. She had finally broken, declared that if he laid a hand on her again, he would find himself missing one. And then she had packed a few things in a suitcase of his and fled home. Sure, her mother's yells weren't much improvement on Tatsuo's, but it was a start. Aino Cho and Aino Hisao had at first been overjoyed to see her, but with them, she kept silent about that previous living situation. Tatsuo had, shockingly, been just as silent since her departure—no calls, no texts, no appearances on her doorstep or attacks from beneath her car. It seemed too perfect, but Minako was never one to second-guess good fortune.

There. She had reached the front of the crowd. Saito was even more repulsive up close, she noted resolutely. And then she began to listen.

"Truth is not always the lightest burden to bear, friends, but I intend to take up that saddle and help all denizens of this New Tokyo with theirs!" Another smattering of applause and high-pitched whistles.

"Settle down, for a moment. Now, my first line of business requires immediate attention, as inopportune as it may be."

Several microphones were shoved closer to her podium. Reporters had come like flies to shit in the melee, positively bursting with inquiries and accusations. But strangely, the crowd was beginning to settle into more comfortable stances, more malleable frames of mind. Questions lingered in the air, but everyone was willing to hear their new chairwoman out. If she didn't know any better, Minako would say there was something else in the air; but she knew, too, that not everything could be attributed to some invisible evil hiding in the bushes or the alleys or the atmosphere. Frankly, she had come to learn that most people liked to be led around by the hand, told what to do with their insignificant lives.

Her attention was drawn back to Saito. "I take it everyone is acquainted with those identified as the Sailor Senshi?" The question was a rhetorical one. "Effective immediately, all individuals identified as or allies of the Senshi are enemies of the state."

This remark woke many from their collective reverie. Gasps filtered through the quiet, threatening to break in a flood of voice.

Minako's gasp was lost among the rustling of the crowd. But just as quickly as the shock hit her, the strategist in the Inner Senshi's commander began to analyze, plan, build fury. She was almost certain now that these youma attacks hadn't been random or isolated—the monsters were, in some twisted sense, wards of the state. The government had been planning this all along! There was no reason for them to come out against the senshi (enemies of the state! The audacity of such a claim!), unless they had been planning to do so for some time. A preventative measure? Minako didn't know her future history very well, but perhaps information about the rise of Crystal Tokyo had somehow leaked backwards? Those in power never wish to relinquish it, and to know that the senshi under their very noses—helping the government in their war on crime, no less—would eventually reign supreme certainly didn't present a pleasant outcome for the governmental powers that be. Minako's mind continued to race. Suddenly, she regretted missing all those meetings with the others; how much more they might know already! No matter. She would talk to them as soon as she was finished here.

"I understand your confusion, friends, but reliable information from a number of sources has alerted my colleagues and me to a larger concern: the Senshi intend to rebel against the government in the hopes to commandeering it for themselves. These are violent insurgents, as many who have kept up with the local news well know. They don't care who is put in danger, criminals and innocents alike. The senshi are homegrown terrorists, my people, and must be treated for all intents and purposes as such. I told you at the beginning of my speech that I intend to carry the weight of the truth, and now I give it to you in full. From this day forth, anyone discovered to be aiding the insurgents will likewise be considered enemies of the state, awarded the most stringent punishments we deem appropriate at present. I rest assured that you all understand I must take any and all measures to protect the good people of this city. I will now conduct a short question and answer period. Please keep things succinct, and be aware in advance that some information must remain classified."

She wore a self-satisfied smile, but Minako was reminded again of a slimy frog licking its lips after slurping up a particularly juicy fly. Thousands of hands shot up, but the press had first dibs on the newly-elected chairwoman.

"Ms. Saito!" shouted one slightly anorexic-looking woman with caked-on foundation and rouge all wrong for her skin tone, "the senshi have always been known as benevolent forces in the city. Sort of…vigilante superheroes for the common man. How do you respond to this history of mutuality between Tokyo and the senshi?"

Saito responded without hesitation. "You used a choice word, Ms…" she ignored the woman's offer of her name, "when you said 'vigilantes.' Vigilantes may have proactive intentions, but at the very core, they are working outside the law for motives beyond our full understanding. If we agreed with all the choices the senshi have made in the past, we would have offered them positions. Moreover, Ms. –, if we were to condone the actions of such vigilantes, we would be promoting by proxy a sort of anarchy in the city. Wouldn't you agree with that?" Again, rhetorical.

"Chairwoman!" another man cried, "Aren't you worried that the government might not—doesn't have—the _power_ to declare this war on the senshi?"

"I stand before you assured that I and my colleagues can back up any of our barks with equally hefty bites."

Minako wasn't able to hold her tongue any longer. "Saito!" Saito Noriko's reptilian eyes whipped around to appraise Minako's own earnest cerulean ones. "If it's the youma causing trouble for the people of Tokyo, why aren't you making _them_ the number one priority? Instead, you're waging a battle against the very people helping you keep them under control. There's some seriously shady shit behind this development that you aren't telling all your 'friends' here."

"And what did you say your name was, miss?"

"I didn't," Minako retorted, the burn bubbling up within her once more. "And I don't intend to. I'm not going to offer myself up to your damn blacklist. If you can't answer the question in front of everyone here, I can only imagine what else is being kept 'classified' for now."

With that, she swerved around, her golden locks flying in the pull of the breeze, and worked her way back through the crowd, which was now less hesitant to give voice to their doubts and fears, gasps rumbling up and breaking into shouts, unanswered questions. It would be a riot soon enough if left unchecked, but Saito Noriko's gaze was trained carefully on the fiery blonde trying to lose herself in the mass of people; the girl would not be lost. She motioned to a guard behind her with a casual flick of her wrist; he, in turn, brought a communicator to his mouth and gave order to the lackies interspersed throughout the people.

Minako was rusty, but she was no idiot. She saw the men in uniforms looking more alert, saw them begin to shove people aside, step on toes to get closer to her. Well, she had some magic of her own at hand. It was something Rei had taught her—not going invisible entirely, but using a sort of mental shield to make yourself less…noticeable. Minako hadn't practiced in some time now; after all, she was constantly seeking attention at auditions, on the streets. But she found it somewhat easier than expected; her mind drew inward and she looked beyond her center of vision, the way you might look at one of those dotted-image puzzles. Where you can only see the picture by losing focus. Oddly enough it was Tatsuo's face that rose up in the haze. And so the crowd melted away, as though she herself was falling into something beyond them. No one saw the shimmer, but she felt it cover her. If people paid her any mind, they could see her, but they were more concerned now with the lizard on the stage. The lackies weren't entirely deceived, of course, but a little disoriented for a few moments.

In her peripheral, she noticed one put a hand to his hip. They were armed? This was ludicrous. She quickened her pace.

The end of the crowd was only yards away, and then she could slip sideways into an alley and launch into a run. She heard his steps behind her, quickening with her own. She moved faster.

The agent behind pulled his gun from the holster at his side and lifted it. The crowd broke into panic; people became violent, pushing their neighbors to the side and to the ground in order to clear the path in front of them. A few screams broke out, but she couldn't look back. She thought she heard the crunch of bone somewhere behind—was some poor child stomped out underfoot, no better than a cigarette or an ant? She didn't have time to think about others anymore, because once everyone had cleared the path, she was right within his line of view.

Just a few more feet…she felt a smile tug at her lips…and…BAM. She slammed face first into one of the spectators…he looked oddly familiar.

"Umino!" Minako cried. Her shimmer dissipated, but no one was looking for anything but a safe way out by now. The agent with the gun was closing in.

"Come with me," he whispered, "No time to explain." He threw her forward into the closest alleyway.

* * *

Usagi was one of the few completely unaware of the big rally in Tokyo that blistering afternoon. In her hands were a couple of shopping bags, filled with various items quite foreign to her; in one, the basics: pacifiers, several bottles, diapers small enough to fit a newborn's bottom, and a breast pump (which had Usagi guffawing at an image of herself with udders strapped to her chest). The other had a few things for herself: five books on how to deal with being a terrified new mother, one called "The Thousand Most Popular Names for Your Little One!", and a jumbo chocolate bar. It wasn't her fault that they had candy right in front of the card-swipe at the bookstore counter!

All around her were hundreds of little ones, probably with popular, book-bought names and trembling mommies. Everywhere she looked, another pair of doe-eyes stared back, as though mocking her. As if they knew she would be a terrible parent. Even at the bookstore earlier, a tiny person hooked up to its mother's chest in some papoose-like sling watched knowingly as she deliberated with herself whether or not to throw the candy bar inconspicuously next to her pile of books.

"Expecting?" the papoose-bearing mother inquired with a wide grin.

"Um…" Usagi replied, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "…yes."

"How far along?" The woman bounced the baby up and down with her hip as she put the items from her cart onto the counter with a free hand.

"Just through the first trimester," came Usagi's absent reply. She was too busy watching the baby watching her, its brown eyes piercing through the confidence she had built up like an exoskeleton around her fragility.

"I bet you're so excited!" the woman squealed. The baby giggled along with its mother, but Usagi was almost certain she detected malice. She cut eyes at it, but the baby quickly turned its head and began to cry. The woman smiled apologetically.

Usagi took the receipt from the cashier and grabbed the bag with an anxious hand. "Sure," she mumbled and bounded out through the exit.

And now she couldn't escape them. Babies, babies, everywhere! From the storefront windows, mini-mannequins sported big-people clothing, woman-mannequins pushed empty strollers through their empty window world. And that was nothing compared to the smiling women with tiny people held back by leashes on harnesses, little hands and little steps curiously following the bigger ones beside them. Would she be adorned with those same strangely melancholy smiles, holding the reins of those same restrictive leashes in half a year?

A beep jolted her out of her musings. The comm-link. She hurried into an empty side street and turned her back to the passersby.

"What is it?" she demanded of the miniaturized-Ami in the communicator's vid-screen.

"Where have you been, Usagi-chan?!"

"Out shopping," she mumbled.

Ami's disappointment read through even the grainy image. "Makoto, Rei, and I were caught up in a youma attack. We narrowly avoided some serious injuries, Usagi. Mako tried to contact you multiple times."

The implication, of course, being that she had been too lazy or too distracted to answer. That she had failed her guardians. "Look. I'm sorry. I've been out in the city; I must not have heard it."

"Just get to the shrine, Usagi. The three of us are here with Michiru and Haruka. We're trying to get a hold of Minako now."

Usagi heaved a sigh and glanced behind her. A small child had escaped its mommy's strict grasp and stood at the brighter corner of the main street glaring back at her. Like it knew something she didn't. Had understood her private conversation.

"Yeah, Ami, I'm on my way."

* * *

"Ouch!" Rei shrieked, squinting her amethyst eyes shut against the flush of pain.

"I have to admit, I'm a bad nurse," Michiru smirked, pressing the peroxide-soaked cotton swab more gently against Rei's pale elbow.

"I thought we agreed we wouldn't take that outta the bedroom." Haruka winked at Ami, who felt an instantaneous blush spread across her cheeks. Michiru shot a look of disapproval at her lover.

"So would you mind going over this…_evolution_ again?" Michiru didn't face Makoto as she said this, but the brunette was well aware of where the question was directed.

"Can't really explain it," came her reply, "I just felt a sort of…burning inside. I was floating maybe eight or nine feet above the ground—I had been falling, so at first I thought I hit the pavement—splat! (at this, Makoto slapped her palms together)—and just felt something trying to break free inside. And then my fuku morphed all on its own, I felt the attack gain force, and I set it loose." She looked down as she recounted the events of only an hour or so before; she had a lot of bravado, but in the presence of the Outers, she always felt a bit hesitant in choosing her words. Never knew when they might be twisted.

"So you didn't have control." This was not a question. Haruka's assertive growl ensured that much. But she wasn't angry; merely concerned.

"I didn't feel very in control."

"Did you know what form the attack would take?" Michiru's voice was quieter, more calculated. She continued tending to Rei's flesh wounds on the open floor beside the tea table. She ignored Rei's ceaseless wincing. There was no use in being timid with the girl; the wounds wouldn't go away on their own, even if she had had some accelerated healing capacity as a senshi.

"I knew it was boiling up, but I didn't know the words until they were passing through my lips. Sounded damn stupid at the time, but it was the most power I think I've ever harnessed." Makoto's phone beeped. A text from Akiyama. Heat choked her throat and she quickly hid her phone in the pocket of her purse.

"Hot date?" Haruka laughed. "No time, babe. So what you're getting at here is that you've stumbled into some kind of greater force, but have no way of keeping it restrained. Who's to say that something couldn't go wrong with it? That you might lose yourself and hit one of us instead of the youma?" Haruka's brow furrowed; the twinkle in her eye had vanished, and Makoto was reminded suddenly of the way the Outer Senshi had behaved before joining the greater team. Duty was everything; relationships and compassion were inconsequential.

"I'll learn."

The door swung open. Five pairs of eyes turned to meet the intruder.

"Sorry!" Usagi stumbled in and threw her shopping bags down in the corner. Slipping her shoes off, she joined them at the table. "Tell me everything."

"If you had answered your communicator," Rei fumed, "we wouldn't have to."

Usagi fumbled with her wedding ring, twisting it over and over again. "I said I was sorry. I don't know what else to tell you."

"We need to know that it won't happen again, Princess." Haruka said this with a slight hint of deference, but the matter was a serious one. She brushed her choppy bangs from her eye and stood up, her height commanding against the frame of the doorway. "Two of _your_ guardians were injured. They could have used your help."

"Oh yeah?" Usagi burst. "Then where the hell were the rest of you? Where was Minako? Setsuna? You and Michiru? Who decided that I was the only one at fault here? There were three caught in that attack, and they could have used all of our help. I can't sit here and make any promises about my future on the battlefield. In case you haven't noticed," she put a palm to her protruding stomach, "I've got a pretty inconvenient bun in the oven. Who knows how much longer I'll be flailing about in front of these fucking…things!"

They were all taken aback. Usagi was the crier, the goof, the clutz. Fury was not a typical performance from the odango-adorned woman. Michiru's hand was frozen on Rei's calf; Makoto's mouth hung agape. Haruka leaned against the doorway, saying nothing, and Ami kept her eyes on the smooth surface of the low table.

"That's right," Usagi declared, "I've got shit going on, too. I'm tired of being looked to for every last detail, every time something goes wrong. I want to live my life, just like the rest of you. And I know that I can't, but I intend to try. Now, if I had heard the communicator—which I didn't—I would have answered the call, gone to help. So stop talking down to me. I'm not an idiot. I'm a grown woman like all of you, and I deserve a little respect around here."

The silence was thick as everyone avoided everyone else's eyes.

"Get it, girl!" Minako's laughter overran the room. But it wasn't Minako who entered; it was Sailor Venus. And she had someone dragging along behind her, attached (not unlike those kids on leashes) by her love-me chain. "Everyone needs a little respect!"

Her laughter broke the silence, but now all present sat curious about the boy in tow. The wiry brown hair, gargantuan glasses, nerdy posture—

"Umino!" came the consensus from several of the girls. Those who had gone to school with him, anyway.

"Turns out he's been sleeping with the enemy, so to speak, girls." Venus let her fuku dissipate, standing before them now as their easily recognizable, energetic blonde. She looked better than at their last meeting, as if she had gotten a few good nights' rest and a good, swift fire under her ass.

"Wait, wait," Umino protested, inching closer to the door. Haruka quickly blocked his exit. "Let me explain. And by the way," he turned to Minako, hands on hips, "This is _not_ where you said you would be taking me!"

"Oops!" she shrugged, winking at the other girls.

"And you _both_ better have a good explanation," Rei retorted. "Minako, do you know how absolutely stupid it was to bring him here? Especially if you claim he's been working for the youma!" She was sending a rather potent evil eye in Umino's direction by this point, ignoring Michiru's insistence that she stay seated.

"Not technically," Umino observed. "For Saito Noriko. I was just an underling in her campaign…I would take dictation, file things, kiss up to her…but for some reason she entrusted me with a greater mission." He stopped to look at each of them, hesitating to continue. Seven strong, very agitated women stared back at him; one wrong move, and he'd be a Umino-kabob. "A mission to help her in stopping the Sailor Senshi."

"I knew it!" Ami slammed a fist down on the table. "I mean…er…"

"So what's to stop us from _stopping_ you right now, kid?" Haruka pushed him at the small of his back, jolting him only enough to make him stumble. When he regained his composure, he turned to her.

"Because I want to help you. Because I realized what I was doing was wrong." He stepped back from them a bit. "I didn't know what I was getting into. Didn't really understand the gravity of the situation, you know?" They each nodded in turn, knowing better than most exactly what he meant.

"Tell them what you told me," Minako nudged him, a bright twinkle in her eye.

"I didn't offer! You told me you'd—"

Minako slapped a hand over his mouth with an uncomfortable laugh. "He's offered to be a spy for us!" She released the wiry boy from her clutches, keeping a concealed thumb and forefinger in a pinch on his arm.

"Er…that's right," he stuttered, ramming an elbow into her gut. She choked back a squeal. "I'm going to—that is, if you all think it would be worthwhile, or want my help at all—continue working for Saito for the time being. And then, uh, report it back to you all."

Rei's voice came a little hampered, as she elevated her ankle on several pillows. "How do we know you're not spying right now—on us? Minako, this was just about the ditziest idea I think you've ever had. It was bad enough to blow your cover in front of him, but to bring him here and blow all of ours without warning?"

"No, no, it's not like that!" Umino objected, "I won't tell anyone!"

"Yeah, and what kind of guarantee can we possibly have on that?" Rei parried.

"It doesn't matter much anyway, what Minako did. I had figured it out for the most part on my own." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a nervous habit, and turned his mouth up in a smug grin.

"How would you do that?" said Ami, an air of haughty incredulity in her thin voice, "Our transformation isn't merely a physical one; part of the magic of it is that it has a mentally taxing effect on all those who observe. Most people forget they've seen us at all, and those who do remember can only evoke vague images of blurs and nondescript forms." She looked to the window for a moment. The sun was beginning to set, but perched on the cherry blossom just past the windowsill sat two large crows, peering in as though they understood every word. Coincidence? Umino's nasal voice brought her back.

"The attack earlier today. That's when I figured it out for certain—at least for you, and Makoto, and Rei." He pulled a pouch from his coat pocket. "You might want to analyze whatever's leftover in this, Ami. It's a dust, or a powder Saito instructed me to use on the youma in case you all overpowered it, initially." Ami took the pouch and set it on the table beside it, for analysis later. She wasn't thinking too clearly at the moment.

"So that's why it came back?" Makoto returned.

"Yes. I'm not sure how it works, but I figure Ami's little gizmo might help with that. It's beside the point; as I watched you all, at first I had the same haze you mention. But it doesn't take much to see how you all interact with one another—I recognized something from the past. You know, Ami, I had a pretty big crush on you in—"

"Let's not," the blue-haired brain cut him off, blushing for the second time already in that short meeting.

"I had done a lot of observation in high school, and I knew when I was watching you three earlier exactly where I remembered you from. It wasn't too difficult to put two and two together after that, figure out the rest of you. And that's when I knew what I was doing for Saito was terrible. I should have been helping you all, not helping kill you!"

"Quite the genius," Haruka remarked, narrowing her bright eyes at him.

"Come on, guys," Usagi said, having been silent for some time now, "he's had a change of heart in our favor. Now isn't the time to be punishing him for something he's already repented. We need to make our decision."

Makoto, Michiru, and Ami nodded solemnly. Minako flashed her teeth in a wide smile.

"I don't know about this," Rei muttered. "It's not that I don't trust him—"

"Well, I don't trust him!" Haruka interjected.

"—hold on, Haruka," Rei's eyes flashed black in the glint of sunlight that broke through the shadows of the spacious room. "I don't doubt Umino's intentions. I can see he's in earnest. But something in my gut says that this could seriously backfire on us."

"We don't even know what we're dealing with in Saito yet! She could be just some tyrannical politician or…she could be under some other control."

Minako looked down. "Well…I have to admit, I do think Saito is working for something much larger than herself. I'm pretty sure she's controlling these youma attacks. I confronted her about it—"

"What? Confronted her!?" Makoto stared hard at the blonde. "Of all the stu—"

"It was at her acceptance speech, where I ran into Umino. She was holding a question and answer session. I just said a few things…in any case, she was definitely wary of giving any information related to the attacks. But she wasn't scared to declare war on us!"

"What do you mean?" Michiru inquired, far more calmly than any of the others could have been capable of.

"She said that, well, the Senshi and anyone considered accomplices to them are officially deemed enemies of the state."

Gasps all around. Haruka looked as though she would punch through the shrine wall; Rei would have liked to do the same, if she wasn't stuck on the hard floor.

Umino backed her up. "Saito's been working on ways, as I said, to stop you. But she's making it a political goal, as well. If she can turn the people against you, she thinks that she can easily take you all down without any disruption to the greater morale of the city. She seems to believe that Sailor Moon—uh, Usagi—is planning to take control of Tokyo."

Usagi shot a knowing look all around. "The point is that we need to form a plan now."

"But do we want to take Umino on as a spy?" Minako prodded anxiously, "I mean, that's our most important line of business, right? We can wait to see how things play out with this 'war,' right? For all we know, she might get no support and have to drop the whole damn thing.

Usagi closed her eyes for a brief second. What the others didn't know was that another pain was wracking her stomach; she was working through it, though. She'd been practicing. "I trust Umino," she finally said, serenely. "I say we do it. Besides, there's no harm to be done now. He already knows our identities; he can't really get out of his position with Saito without raising suspicion. We may as well have him help us, since he's trapped there. Can we all agree?"

Umino looked silently around at the girls, feeling like he wasn't in the room at all. That all these girls were talking about some other person far away. But it was better that way, not to draw too much attention to himself. He was used to that.

Ami gave a silent nod. Michiru did the same. Makoto and Minako both verbalized their excitement; after all, this was big news!

"I'll go with whatever you believe best, Usagi," came Haruka's dutiful response.

"It still doesn't sit right with me," Rei stated, "but I don't think we have much of a choice."

"It's decided then," Usagi stood up and approached Umino. Taking his small hand in both of her own, she smiled. "Umino, you are now officially one of us. We'll expect reports twice weekly, unless something more urgent comes up. Maybe Luna could get a communicator?" She looked around.

"The—cat?" Umino inquired, curious. He thought he recalled some strange feline—did it have a little gold moon on its forehead?—following Usagi around outside the school.

"Yeah," Usagi replied. She looked suddenly puzzled. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen her or Artemis in a few days now."

"Usagi!" Ami chided. "How could you lose track of her?"

"Well, anyhow," she smirked sweetly, "They can take care of themselves. And we'll get things worked out. You can always come here if need be, but be discreet."

"I understand."

The door swung open for the third time that afternoon. In walked Meioh Setsuna, a pained glare in her ruby eyes. Her emerald locks were pulled back from her face in a loose braid. Sweat lined her hairline, and a waft of cigarette smoke followed her in through the entrance. Haruka had seen her sneaking "fresh air" breaks every hour or so since Hotaru had gotten sick, and the two had moved in with the lovers.

"Setsuna? What is it?" Michiru went to the woman, placing a tender hand on her shivering shoulder.

"She's gone." Setsuna's voice was panicked, her breathing quick.

"Who, darling, who's gone?" Michiru replied quietly. She brushed the stray hairs from Setsuna's wide eyes.

"Hotaru. I hurried home, like you told me, and the bed was empty! I turned the house upside down, tried the communicator, searched the neighborhood. There's no goddamn trace of the girl!"

"That's—that's impossible," Michiru stammered.

"I swear it," Setsuna murmured, more serious now, "She's gone."

* * *

_Next up in _**Ascension**_: _Spies, spies, all around! A big discovery and the consequences that ensue--what have the senshi really gotten into with this government conspiracy? A raid, and a new family situation. Old characters reappear while others make fateful moves toward their fates. The stakes are being raised.

* * *


End file.
